Soft Touch of Pestilence
by Think-ghastly-thoughts-quietly
Summary: After her mother's untimely death, Carmen Doe moves to Haddonfield and finds herself entwined with a cursed man who happens to carry a very sharp knife. Michael/OC. Post-H2.
1. The Creak

**Chapter One: The Creak**

 _Night unfurled with a strain of a mother's hopeless sobs._

" _As long as you're here," promised her daughter's whisper, "I'll never go to Haddonfield. I'll never leave you."_

XXX

Stuffed animals perched atop the bookshelves of nursery rhymes and fairy tales unread. Their beady black eyes stared aimlessly into the walls of the room which smelled of forgetfulness and neglect.

Under the slightest of weight, the floorboards creaked as Carmen Doe hauled her suitcase atop a bed slightly too small for her frame.

A plume of dust tickled her nostrils . Carmen sneezed once. Twice. Before a third, the familiar whine of wood startled her and she spun around.

Behind her, with his hand raised in a calming manner, was her father - a stocky unremarkable man with thinning hair near his temples. Carmen could not see much of herself in him.

"Whoa there, kiddo. It's just me," he said. His gray eyes fabricated amusement.

Carmen replied with a sound of embarrassment.

Her father smiled then cast a fond glance about the room. She saw him turn in the direction of her desk. Though she couldn't see his face, she knew he was frowning by the exaggerated slope of his shoulders and wondered if it would've matched hers.

"God, I haven't touched this room since…" He paused, containing a sigh.

… _Since the divorce._

Something twisted in Carmen's chest and quickly she unclipped her suitcase. As long as she kept her hands moving, she could stay calm. "You and me both," Carmen croaked as she undid the suitcase straps securing her clothes.

"Come on," he said, approaching her to ruffle her head, only to unravel her messy black bun so that her hair fell in messy curls down her back. Carmen thought the gesture to be demeaning because she wasn't a child anymore. Her father had to have known he missed that chance.

"Get settled in and we can head out for dinner. Maybe, buy some things for your room if the store is still open," he said

Carmen laid out her belongings on her bed, separating the categories of her clothes in stacks. Pants. Blouses. Dresses. So many colors yet, red stood out to her the most. Much like the rose she'd set upon her mother's casket.

Her hands stilled as parts of her concentration fell away. It wasn't until she felt the tears cool upon her cheeks did she notice her father's closeness and his hand clapped over her rigid shoulder.

"I know you miss her." He said as gently as he could. "I do too, Carmen."

His words were of no consolation to her.

Because she was alone in a place where her dead mother never wanted her to be.

 _Never go to Haddonfield._


	2. The Mask

Chapter Two: The Mask

"So, your father works with real estate development? That's cool. I mean — not the fact that your mom passed away. I'm really sorry—"

"It's fine." Carmen quipped, trying to match Richard Deeney's long strides. It seemed the boy detected her curt tone and quieted some. She was glad. She was afraid that he'd start asking questions that she couldn't answer without crying.

Stupid Richard, who was rather handsome looking and who only wanted to get to know her more. He must've been very outgoing. The girls must love him.

Stupid Richard.

"So this is where you'll find most of your classes," Richard said, propping a door open for her. They entered into a separate annex of the building.

"Since this is where most of the senior lockers are, you won't have to worry about bumping into any underclass —"

A scream splintered the hallway, sending Carmen cowering behind the shadow of her peer. Richard shifted in front of her with his closed fists raised as a girl scrambled from the restroom, her pale hair in disarray. The terror drained the color from her face as a burly hand closed around her wrist and yanked her back. Carmen barely withheld her scream when the girl twisted around and struggled against a figure whose face was a white…

Emotionless...

Mask.

The blonde turned around so quickly and swung her arm out as her hand knocked off the uncanny Halloween prop.

The pale face flopped to the floor.

What revealed behind the mask were plain hazel eyes framed by brown hair and the girl slapped him again. The sound resounded off the lockers, finally drawing an incensed teacher out of his classroom to the commotion, demanding a reason for the uproar.

"Sorry Mr. Rhinehart! We'll be right out of here!" Richard said apologetically.

The older man shook his head and returned to the classroom to resume his instruction with the door slamming shut.

"Where're you goin, Jen? It was a joke." The boy asked teasingly. "I thought you wanted to try something new."

The blonde whirled around out of his grasp and eloquently extended her middle finger before strutting out of the hallway.

"Fuck you, you sick son of a bitch," she hissed.

This time Richard fixed the boy with a glare of his own. "Jimmy, seriously?" The senior that volunteered to tour Carmen around school crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Have a little respect for her."

Jimmy regained the limp mask off the floor. "Mind your own fucking business, man." He waved dismissively and blinked at the girl accompanying Richard. "Who're you?"

"This is Carmen Doe. She's from Saint Louis," Richard said. He glanced at her, eyes twinkling, and she smiled.

"I wasn't asking you." Jimmy said off handedly then to Carmen he offered his hand. She quickly glanced at the mask rolled up in his left before she shook it.

"Call me 'Jimmy,'" the boy said. He wasn't charming, Carmen noted, but at least he was trying to be.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" Richard asked as she released the troublemaker's hand.

"' _Shouldn't you be in class'_?" Jimmy mocked. "Earth to Richie — you need to stop walking around town wearing daddy's badge. Go back to tying knots for middle schoolers, scout."

Richard rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't have to worry about my dad. But, keep at it with your Michael Myers bullshit and you'll get shot by Sheriff Brackett."

 _Michael Myers._

Carmen hated how the name could evoke goosebumps on her arms.

"If he can catch me." Jimmy chuckled though Carmen thought it was an oddly placed sound for such a dark topic. "It's a damn shame they sent that guy to the loonie."

"But, wasn't he a killer?" Carmen finally spoke, feeling a little out of place discussing a topic that was so intimately connected to the Haddonfield residents.

There was some odd degree of coldness in Richard's face. "He's more than that and he deserves to die."

"Yeah, this guy's also in a coma. You think they'd try him while he's unconscious?" He scowled but then his face lit up ironically. " _Actually_ — that sounds pretty legitimate. Let's put a noose around his neck while he's hooked up to an IV. We should appeal to the judge right now. Let's gather an angry mob!"

Frustration dripped into Richard's visage like acid, burning away much of the amicable boy she had met earlier. Carmen took one hesitant step back. "You think he's all a joke?" Richard spat. "He massacred an entire hospital."

"Exactly," Jimmy retorted, "Isn't that funny?"

The same teacher, Mr. Rhinehart, poked his head out of his classroom and pinned the three seniors with a blistering gaze. When the threat that he'd write up all of them for detention reached their ears, Richard hastily apologized and prepared to leave, with his hand on Carmen's back, guiding her away. As they exited the building, Jimmy followed their path until he was well outside.

"Well, I'm out of here." Jimmy spun on his heel in the opposite direction. "Heard Penny Nickson hits the showers around this time."

"You're a pervert," Richard said over his shoulder.

As he walked away, Jimmy replied by flipping the bird.

"Asshole." Richard muttered under his breath and removed his hand from Carmen. "Hope he didn't give you too much of a scare. I know it's the season and all—"

"Everyone deserves a good scare." Carmen interrupted lightly. "Good thing I'm not easily frightened."

Her smile was small, but it was convincing enough.

"Sounds great." Richard grinned. "Then, I'd say you're ready for Halloween."

"I don't celebrate Halloween."

Richard took a moment to recover from that admission. "I mean.. I guess me too — I don't believe in all the lore behind it. But, I do take my little sister out trick or treating. Just to get her off my back, you know?"

"I don't have younger siblings…" Her answer diminished to a murmur. "Just a—"

"Oh, yeah, that's right _!"_ He exclaimed _. "_ Adam Doe is your brother."

 _Adam Doe…_

The child who'd stayed with her father after the separation.

It all seemed so unreal, the truth her mother judged her unworthy of knowing.

"...He's a great guy! I usually see him working on construction projects around the outskirts of town. I met him once and told me he'd talk to his manager about considering me for internship. You're lucky to be his sister-"

"I don't feel so lucky, Richard," Carmen said, looking at her peer sadly whose confusion was plainly seen.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I hardly know anything about my brother."

 _Or Haddonfield for that matter._


	3. The Nurse

Chapter Three: The Nurse

He felt…

Heavy.

As though he were swimming in a thick brew, kicking and clawing at the surface to stay afloat.

His mind like his body sank under the weight of an unknown substance that swirled and threatened to drown him. Pulling apart his limbs further in an endless whirlpool.

Grains of light shining through refracted in gray beams under the bandages. The warmth it emitted bled through his eyelids.

In spite of his efforts, he couldn't open them.

The drone of a machine beside him ticked away, conducting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. There wasn't much noise outside of that.

Except.

A door opened. Pairs of heels clicked on the linoleum floor, clearing the black haze shrouding his mind, fishing him out of the undertow.

"Dr. Loomis, you really shouldn't be here." A woman's voice pleaded. "I understand he was your former patient but—"

"If you have any sympathy for the innocent lives mercilessly ended by his hand, you'll allow me this chance," was the sage whisper

"I...Please be quick," she conceded reluctantly.

The door hissed open then clicked shut. Though, Michael wasn't assured of his privacy. The heavy breaths he heard funneling through someone's nostrils hadn't quite fooled him into thinking he was alone.

 _He_ was there. And he was still alive. When all this time, Michael was certain the old man had burned with him in the flames.

It was somewhat distasteful that the doctor would take advantage of his state of incapacitation, where he had no choice but to listen.

"I know you can hear me Michael…"

He hadn't uttered a word since he killed his sister. He hadn't uttered a word at Smith's Grove. At some point during his detainment, the doctors professed him a mute. Professed him equally incapable of word as he was, they concluded, incapable of thought. If only they had foreseen how fatal underestimating him could be.

Michael couldn't even lift his own finger. Muscles stiff from disuse. And without any outward indication from his patient, the doctor could never confirm his own accusation. Yet, the man continued.

"Like you, I also bear wounds similar to yours. However, it seems a year has passed and you have greatly recovered from what many others have difficulty of accomplishing. Don't you see what you've done?"

Of course he saw. If Michael was blind, he wouldn't have been able to murder all those people. Ruin all those lives.

"And for what? To finish the job of killing your own flesh and blood? If you had succeeded, would you have ended your own life too, Michael?"

It was an inane question. What compelled him to want to kill his siblings, Michael couldn't explain. Though, he knew ending his life wasn't a part of that impulse.

Without much response from him, the doctor droned on in the same way the machine hooked up to him had, and like the machine Michael Myers could dismiss the undercurrent of sadness in the doctor's voice as white noise.

 _The pity._

The man's useless efforts to instill in him a sense of guilt fell on deaf ears. For a long while, he thought the doctor was more interested in hearing himself talk than actually doing his job. The old man was convinced he could still drag out a six year old boy from bottom of the hole. But Michael wasn't in a hole. He was dropped into an ocean and Dr. Loomis would have to fetch a fucking submarine if he ever thought he could rescue his patient from its plummeting depths.

The doctor must've known he was wasting his breath, because at some point he'd left.

Michael knew he'd make an appearance again at some point. That was fine though. At least he was gone. In Smith's Grove, it was a rare mercy for the doctor to ever leave him in peace.

 _Peace was a lie._

A nurse had come in a few hours after the doctor had departed. Her timid, reverent steps sparked the urge for Michael to grab her by the ankles and fling her body against the wall.

Yet he felt so…

… Heavy

...as something pricked his arm.

A needle.

 _It wasn't a surprise._

Just a little bit more his hearing dulled, his thoughts cut. He was sinking. Again.

Several items clattered to the floor before he succumbed to the seductive embrace of slumber. There was a cling of metal and the nurse's head fell into his lap. Her feather—light hair tickled his legs where the hospital gown didn't cover. He imagined tangling his fingers in them, enjoying the texture of her pillowy mane under his palm, before ripping off her scalp.

Suddenly, she clutched at him, nails biting into his skin, raking across the width of his body. The rip of his gown caused him to decide that she had a terrible bedside manner.

There was a short shriek that followed.

A metal _dink_.

Her groans were muffled as though cotton were clogging his ears and she loosened her desperate hold on him before she fell to the floor with a muted thud.

He hadn't seen what happened but Michael knew he could do better.

Someone unwrapped the bandages across his face. Layer by layer until the outline of a silhouette against white became more defined.

When the last strip of gauze lifted, Michael registered the gaunt front of a man with sunken forest eyes before the light pierced his vision.

"It's been a long time, Michael."


	4. The Question

Chapter Four: The Question

She would never admit it bothered her.

The way her father never mentioned her brother.

Not even once in the four days that had passed since her arrival to Haddonfield. There was nothing in the house that indicated she had a sibling. Not even pictures. She didn't know how he had transformed over the years. Adam Doe could've walked right in front of her and she wouldn't have noticed.

When she lived in St. Louis — when her mother was alive — Carmen only discovered she had a brother after she'd asked her mother about her father. She could recall the grimace that her mother wore as she recited their names with startling disregard as though she were forced to recall strangers and not a man she once loved and a son she once bore, or a town she used to call "home." Whoever Adam was, he wasn't for Carmen to ever meet and she wondered if her brother wanted that.

Seated at the dining table, Carmen chewed her food until it tasted like dirt in her mouth and swallowed, repeating the action again as she stabbed her fork through a chicken leg.

"How was school?" Her father asked slowly. The dining room chandelier flickered above them. He'd mentioned that the house was fairly old and he'd used that as an excuse to justify the defective lighting and the odd moan running through the pipes whenever she flushed the toilet. For a man who specialized in houses, she'd think he'd take better care of it. But, Carmen also thought it must've been hard to take care of something that was a constant reminder of what he'd lost.

"It was fine. I...made a few friends. And I'm settling in okay if that's what you're worried about. There's alot of assignments, but my teachers are extending the due dates for me, and some I'm even being excused for."

Her father's face lit up. "That's great to hear! I knew you'd transition here smoothly." Looking decidedly pleased, he propped his arm on the back of the adjacent chair. "Maybe we can head out of town tomorrow and get you some new things for your room? I need to stop by the drug store anyway to pick up candy for the trick-or-treaters ."

Her appetite, not that it was very strong to begin with, dwindled away. Carmen set her fork down. "Why are we celebrating Halloween?"

Her father took a moment to digest the question. "I — it's been a custom to give out candy to the children."

"Despite what happened with Michael Myers?"

The more she had looked into it, Carmen remembered she had vaguely heard of the name before she arrived to Haddonfield.

A year ago, he was some lunatic whose brutal slaughters reached headlines she vaguely remembered but didn't bother looking into.

Quite ironic now considering the amount of time she asked students around school about the notorious killer. Everything from his detainment in a county sanitarium at six years old after the murder of his older sister, to his bloody rampage across town last Halloween all in the pursuit of his younger sister. Acquiring that information helped her draw out dark conclusions about this town.

When she looked up from her plate, the man in front of her had appeared terribly sober.

"Who told you about that?"

"I—" she hesitated.

 _Was curious…_

"... I mean, I found out at school. Alot of the kids talk about him, especially now, at this time of year. The man's practically a celebrity. What with all the killings, you'd think someone would think there's some jinx attached to Halloween." She stopped talking in time to witness the subtle twitch of her father's lips.

He leaned forward and rose from his seat, taking his dishes with him to the kitchen. His feet sounded heavy as they echoed across the wooden flooring.

 _Thump._.

He hadn't said anything until he reached the sink and turned on the faucet.

"Myers is a sick, young man who's rotting away in a cell, Carmen. There's _nothing_ for anyone to be afraid of." It was a warning easily translated into _: Stop putting your nose where it shouldn't be._

Though, Carmen wasn't deterred because she was tired. Tired of not knowing. She was only two, too young, when the fabric of her family fell apart and she wanted to know what had happened. _Why_? How? Question after question arose and fell without an answer.

"Is that why mom didn't want me coming back here? Because of some lunatic in a cell? Because it turns out that there's alot wrong with this town? And you didn't want to leave?"

"Your mother left because I failed her as a husband," he said sharply and all of her thoughts running rampant in her skull stopped all together.

The hiss of running water rushing out of the faucet was the only sound she heard in the dining room. Carmen gulped and scooted back the seat as she rose from the table.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

The water shut off. Her vision blurred with frustrated tears at the sight of her father's back. Her feet moved of their own accord before she made a conscious decision to follow him. As he climbed the stairs, Carmen screamed, "What did you do!?" The sound carried throughout the halls, bouncing the echo back to the source.

His retreating footsteps hadn't ceased, only growing fainter as the distance grew.

It had seemed her feet had become glued to the floor because she couldn't follow him.

She couldn't bring herself to do it. To force from her father answers that would only pain him to recall.

When the bedroom door slammed shut, one question wrapped around her skull without release, claiming victory above all others.

 _Why did you kill yourself, mom?_


	5. The Bath

Chapter Five: The Bath

When the first streak of light peered through the crack in her curtains and shined in her eyes, Carmen knew the day had already started terribly.

While it wasn't the worst morning to date, sleep hadn't come as easily as it should have last night and Carmen stumbled out of her bed, feeling less refreshed than the past few days. Although school was the last thing she wanted to see to, she knew she had a nagging responsibility to her education. The workload had accumulated because of her two month late admission and she didn't want to follow behind Jimmy Bonfim who'd already proclaimed himself the delinquent of her class.

Carmen held onto the hope that today could end better than it started and she trudged across the hall into the bathroom.

Running the hot water, the girl sat at the edge of the tub. She watched the innocent wisps of steam mushroom into a white cloud. After a few minutes, she shed her nightgown and as it pooled to the floor a cold draft breathed over her alabaster skin, summoning goosebumps on her arms.

When the water had run long enough, she twisted the knob, reducing the waterflow until it was a single droplet dangling off the lip of the faucet. Her feet dipped into the tub before her body followed. Carmen leaned back and released a contented sigh as warmth embraced her from her bottom to the slight swell of her breasts. Her locks fanned out atop the water like black oil.

Slowly, her head sank beneath the surface of the water. Strands of her hair reached up past her face, lazily swaying. The water isolated the thrum of her heartbeat; its steady lullaby coaxed her into thoughtlessness.

She was at peace...

Until she cracked her eyes open under the hot water that had turned to ice on her skin. The bubbles of her scream escaped her mouth floating to the surface, creating ripples on the image of a masked man towering over her, whose large hand yanked her head out of the water—

—and the other drew back a bloody kitchen knife.


	6. The Visitor

Chapter Six: The Visitor

The day rolled by and evening had come without much preamble. Against her hopes, her morning hadn't turned out for the better. It was, in fact, worse than all of her waking moments in Haddonfield combined.

It didn't help falling asleep in the bathtub that morning, only to be awakened by a haunting illusion of Michael Myers looking down at her. She shivered and thought the images her mind produced were colder than the autumn breeze blowing through her legs.

Perhaps, she would heed her father's warning and put all of this Halloween nonsense behind her.

As she walked back home, she spotted children playing in their yards and passing empty cars parked on the curb. Dry foliage crinkled under her feet as she walked the remaining four blocks from her house. A child's ball rolled out onto the street and under a stationary orange car. A murder of crows swarmed high over her head. It looked like a black cloud floating in the wind.

She unlocked the front door and pushed through the threshold. With the sun hovering close above the the horizon, the shadows had stretched over every part of the interior. The house was oddly empty and her father wasn't at home. Either he was kept up at work or he was avoiding her, but she didn't dwell on it.

Last night's events had certainly influenced her to not care in the least.

Having missed lunch at school at the expense of completing homework, Carmen went into the kitchen and fixed herself a sandwich. She returned to the counter rather content with her would-be meal, until from the corner of her she saw a large black blur.

Except her two hands flying up to clutch her chest, Carmen was so deathly still she couldn't register the sound of her heartbeat.

The floorboards creaked. Slowly and deliberately. Near her. And Carmen screamed.

Bolting so fast out of the kitchen, she barely registered the tip of her sneakers grazing over a shadowy lump on the floor. Carmen smacked into the back sliding door. In chaotic haste, her fingers unlatched the lock and tugged it open, sprinting into the open yard. Relief flooded her.

She was outside.

She was safe.

Stumbling onto her knees, Carmen squeezed her hands to her chest and waited.

And waited.

The longer she held her breath, the faster it seemed daylight was disappearing and her hopes were dying because with the sky bleeding red from the sunset, Carmen knew her greatest enemy would soon become darkness.

It could have been a robber. Or it could've been her imagination. Nevertheless, Carmen lacked the ability to scare them both away.

 _Let them take what they wanted._ She could always call the police later. That thought wasn't so comforting as night closed in on her like a ravenous pack of wolves.

A wave of nausea wracked through her body, clawing at the deeper parts of her conscience.

How could it have possibly passed her notice? Her father's car sat innocently in the rear of the driveway, where the drooping branches of the willow in the front yard hid it from plain sight. Her father worked on the other side of town. Her father had no reason to be home late. Even if he refused to answer her, he father wouldn't avoid his daughter like the plague.

Her father…

...was home.

And in her hysteria, the desperate need to be as far away from danger as physically possible, overcame her potential to notice that she'd stumbled over his body.


	7. The Drapes

Chapter Seven: The Drapes

She'd nearly forgotten what her father said last night until now.

 _There's nothing for anyone to be afraid of_.

But Carmen was afraid of the house, a towering two story residence glaring at her from every shady window. Afraid of the god awful picket fence enclosing her into the back, sun beaten lawn. Afraid of the premature evening falling faster than she would've liked. Most of all, Carmen was afraid of what she might find inside the very house she fled.

Her father could've been hurt. Could've suffered a stroke. Could've died. Yet, Carmen did nothing. Said nothing. She was petrified. Unmoving. Joints as stubborn as rusted hinges. Heart as erratic as a rabbit being hunted. And for what?

Because of a little creak that could've been a helpful indication that the house had aged. What harm did a groan of the floorboards mean anyway? That it had withstood years of baking in the summer, years of frosting in the winter?

Her unwillingness to move and the tears falling down her cheeks was enough to let her cowardice manifest.

 _Move Carmen, move_.

 _Your father is in there._

She considered calling the police but, that would've meant going back inside that house.

What was she actually afraid of?

This time Carmen made a decision.

Dirt and grass stains appeared on her baby blue skirt, her hair had come loose out of the bun she'd wrapped it tightly in before going to school as she gathered herself from the ground. Ignoring the strands of hair catching in her eyes and sweeping across her cheekbones, she staggered towards the gate. Her hands reached out to unlock it. When she slipped through, her sneakered feet clapped against the asphalt. A set of clean white wooden steps descended six treads from the door to the house across the street. She climbed them by twos. Her fist rapped urgently against the solid plane of the entrance in four, hard resounding knocks that almost conveyed the rapid beat of her heart.

When she dreaded that no one would answer, the door swung open and the sickly sweet spices of holiday zest hit her nose.

A woman smiled. "Hello dear—"

"Please — Can I — can I use your telephone?" Carmen choked on a sob. "My… My father he's…"

She bent forward and coughed out the tears lodged in her throat. "Please… Please. His name is D-David Doe. He lives in the house over there. He's not okay. I came home and I found him on the floor and I think there might be someone in the house too, I just… God please…"

With knitted brows suspended over a tender gaze, the woman gently touched the girl's shoulder and ushered her into the warmth of her scented foyer.

Carmen let her.

"Hush sweetheart, it's fine I'll call for help. Wait here, alright?"

"Thank you. Thank you so much." As she watched the woman shuffle away, Carmen lingered near the edge of the front window of the living room.

"Yes hello, operator," the woman said distantly from the kitchen. "Can you dispatch an ambulance to residence 19 South Cherry Fir Lane. No, this is Regina… Regina Harber. I'm the neighbor from across the street. This girl… She claims to be David Doe's daughter — she says her father is in the house and he's not well…" There was a pause and her tone had hardened. "This is the Haddonfield police department, isn't it? If I wanted to call the damn hospital, I would've called the damn hospital, but the girl says there might be an intruder in the house… "

A cold tear rolled off her cheek as Carmen stared blankly out through the glass that showed the face of her father's home. A tall window on the first floor was covered in faded white curtains.

Even from this distance, Carmen saw the drapes swaying marginally as though someone had previously peeked through them.


	8. The Gun

Chapter Eight: The Gun

"I was born on May 1st, 1961."

"And your full name?"

"Carmen Dorice Doe."

The officer leaned back with a tired sigh. The bruises under his eyes was testimony that he had not seen sleep for awhile and would not see sleep anytime soon.

Tiredly, he looked down at her, perhaps a little less scrutinizing than one hour ago, eyes a little less hardened. "You know a boy at school named Richard Deeney?" he asked gruffly.

The girl squirmed in her chair. She'd sat in it for so long the wrinkles of her skirt were probably imprinted on the skin of her bottom. She glanced to the left of her to the taped off section of the hospital that read in bold black letters UNDER CONSTRUCTION.

Then she looked up at him. "I do," Carmen said without much effort.

"He's my son." His voice grated against rough unused vocals. Carmen could feel her eyebrows furrow barely.

"He mentioned your name a few days ago," he said.

Her gray eyes dropped down to the officer's name tag.

"Oh…"

Officer Deeney then shook his head, making the brim of his hat obscure his eyes temporarily. "I'm sorry about your old man."

"Is he going to be okay?" The concern came easy to her. She didn't know how she'd be able to manage the loss of another parent

"When we found him, he didn't suffer any fatal wounds. Certainly won't be awake anytime soon however." Officer Deeney looked over his shoulder, almost as though he expected someone to call him away. "But, I'll keep someone posted at his door to ask him questions about what happened."

"And no one was able to find anything in the house?" Carmen asked.

Her attention briefly followed the path of a nurse pushing a squeaking gurney across the hospital lobby and returned to see the officer nod his head.

"Your father's bedroom was a mess when we found it. His bedside drawers were thrown open. On your father's records he has a registered firearm, we assume that's what they may have taken. Thank God it wasn't used on him."

Carmen didn't want to thank God for anything yet.

"Anything else?"

The officer scratched his chin, fingernails hissed over the prickly stubble of his face.

"There was no sign of forced entry. Does your father have a habit of keeping any windows or doors unlocked throughout the day?"

"No. I'm pretty sure he rarely opens the windows to begin with and hardly goes out the back yard." _Or at least, he doesn't tend to it_. "I was the last one out of the house this morning and I'm certain I locked the front door."

"We did find the back sliding door opened," he said pointedly.

"That was me." Carmen admitted. She'd noticed how her tongue smacked the roof of her mouth with every word she mouthed. She was thirsty. The man in front of her could probably tell. Would he think she had a dry mouth because she was nervous? Because she had something to hide? Would that make her a suspect?

"I ran out of the house from there," she mumbled.

Officer Deeney raised a brow, but otherwise refrained from asking any further questions when a younger officer approached them.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Officer Deeney gave her a sidelong glance before he stood, tucking his clipboard under his arm. "Give me a moment, please."

Carmen nodded and watched the two policemen retreat to a secluded corner of the lobby where she couldn't see them. Her eyes averted frontward. A woman and a boy sat in the row of chairs on the opposite side of the room. Her fingers were adorned with flashy rings as they drummed against the armrest. Carmen noticed they'd been there since she arrived. They must have been pushed back because of her father.

Several minutes had passed since Officer Deeney left her and her aloneness gave her thoughts reason to fester. Carmen didn't want to think about what happened, so she started counting the tiles on the floor.

"Carmen?"

She turned her head to the curious call of her name and met the sight of a tall, lanky man with broad shoulders and pallid skin draped over a bony face. His collarbone jutted out as though he didn't eat regularly.

Carmen squinted up at him. "Who are you?"

"It's me…" he breathed and looked at her, unfocused. Incredulous. She stared at him until he blinked in understanding. His hand flew up to his forehead, he rubbed at the skin so hard the wrinkles showed. "Oh, right, you probably don't know—"

The young man faltered. When he dropped his hand, the wrinkles were still there. Carmen counted the seconds that it took to flatten out on his skin.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Adam!" Officer Deeney, emerging from his hiding spot, coming from behind him with a grin on his weathered face.

Carmen's eyes widened in disbelief. Then, she felt sad because she'd expected to see faint reminders of her mother in him, but found none besides the jade of his eyes.

So, this was her brother.

"Good evening Officer Deeney," Adam said.

The two men shook hands.

"My son was admitted in today and he told me all about it. I can't begin to thank you for what you did for Richard," the officer said.

"It was no problem at all. You might actually have to thank my father, he's the one who approves of the resumes. Speaking of, how is he? The moment I heard about dad, I drove here as fast as I could…" Adam Doe cleared his throat and added, "Granted I did abide by the speed limit, sir."

The longer she listened to him — the stranger that everyone in Haddonfield called her brother — the more open she was to admitting he had a very memorable voice, one of melodious pitch. It could belong to a choir.

Briefly, she remembered her mother sang for the chapel in St. Louis.

"Sure you did." The smirk on Officer Deeney's face dropped as fast as it had come. "This is probably the worst I've seen him, but his injuries aren't fatal — just a minor head wound. Luckily, your sister discovered him in the house."

 _Sister_. Was that a title that she could ever get used to? Was this how orphaned children felt when they needed to learn to call strangers 'mother' or 'father'?

"We're assuming it was some damned vagrant, but we're still carrying on an investigation. So far, this guy is charged with assault and breaking and entering. I'm sure we'll find him soon enough."

Adam nodded. "Thank you, Officer Deeney."

"You two should get some rest for the night. The doctors will take care of your father and they'll inform you the moment he awakes. Maybe then, we can get the whole story." Carmen didn't miss how Officer Deeney glanced at her. Then, he smiled at Adam. "Take care of your sister, Adam. God knows she's shaken up after this."

Carmen glanced at the brother her mother had refused to speak of. What was so bad about him? Besides the fact that he looked like the wind could blow him away.

"Will do, sir," Adam replied and watched Officer Deeney depart before turning to her.

She wondered if her brother understood how uncomfortable he made her feel when he raked his gaze down her form. It travelled down her legs like the tip of a knife.


	9. The Car

Chapter Nine: The Car

"God, look at you. You're all grown up."

The man glanced at her with a pointed look to somewhere on her stomach. "So, are you surprised? This is the first time we're meeting face to face."

 _It is_.

"I'll get used to it," she said.

"That's good to hear, but the confidence is lacking," he teased, but she wasn't amused.

They walked past the hospital entrance and entered into the parking lot of scattered cars. It was a slow day today and it was well into the night and Carmen wanted to be in bed.

When they'd approached an orange two seater Ford, she stopped walking as her brother did, who'd opened the door for her before he slipped into the driver's seat.

"You still look shocked so I won't push it." Her brother said after he'd started the car and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. "Jeez, you act like mom never mentioned me."

As they drove through the busiest strip of town, Carmen said quietly, "She rarely did," but it seemed her brother didn't hear.

"When I heard you came into town— I mean — _damn_ — I only found out from Officer Deeney's son this morning when I told him the news of his job position. If he hadn't said your name, I would've never have known."

"Dad didn't tell you?"

Her brother barked a harsh laugh. "That old man hardly tells me anything anymore. The only time I see him is in the office and even then he's always busy. I just hammer nails into wood. But who wants to hear about that old man? How about mom? How's she?"

Adam turned at an intersection when Carmen could see the edges of the neighborhood begin to blur as her eyes watered.

"She's…" Carmen swallowed.

"What was that?"

"She passed away."

"What? How?" There was a demand in his question — he almost sounded angry and she didn't know why anyone would feel anger at the death of their mother. She was angry that her brother was so clueless.

"She…" Carmen paused to tell herself not to cry. "Hung herself…" Then, she wrung her hands and looked down. It was dark in the car, so she couldn't quite tell if he saw her tears.

"Jesus Christ. Is that why you're here?" She heard her brother say, refusing to look at him and refusing to see the pity in his eyes. Did their mother's passing affect him as much as it did her?

"Oh Carmie."

Carmen froze.

Only her mother ever called her that. Was it wrong that she didn't like how her brother used that endearment so casually?

When the car had slowed to a crawl, Carmen focused on the jack-o-lanterns in front of each house and the orange holiday decorations glowing on the lawns.

After making several turns, the car pulled into the driveway and stopped behind her father's car, a dark blue Pontiac.

"I'm so sorry." His voice became soft — the hardness had left. "I hardly knew mom—"

 _Of course you wouldn't._

"—but the memories I had of her still stuck with me long after she left. Hey, hey. _Shh_. It's okay, I'm here. And we're home now, see? The police checked every part of the house...uhm...I hope."

Adam twisted the fob and the engine died. As he stepped out, cold air billowed into the car. Reluctantly, his sister followed. Carmen told herself the wind blowing up her skirt was what chilled her bones, but she wasn't so eager to go inside the house for warmth. Needless to say the walk to the front porch was a long and tortuous one.

Carmen would've liked to have Officer Deeney here to check the house one last time.

"Where do you live?" she asked, distracting herself.

"In the next town over, about twenty miles north. That's where the college is and then I drive all the way here to do my part time job with dad's company. Well, he actually _gave_ it to the Strodes ...shortly after you and mom left, but he's a supervisor now," her brother said.

"You mean like… Laurie Strode?"

"So, you've heard about Laurie? Hmm… What the hell — of course, you've heard about Laurie! Haven't met anyone in this town who hasn't." The darkness made his smile have an awkward twist. "Yeah, that's them."

"I didn't think she was here."

"No," Adam corrected. "Laurie is gone. She's somewhere else right now, probably another state. Could imagine the publicity was becoming a little overwhelming for her...That and all of her friends are dead. But her parents did — though they seem ready to move too. Anyways, you must be worn out. Come on, let's get inside."

He led her to the door and his hands casually patted down the front of his coat when she said, "I've been meaning to ask why dad never mentioned you to me."

Her brother stilled and raised a brow at her. "And you think that's a question I can answer?"

"I thought, maybe, something happened between you two."

Adam gave a humorless laugh that held a bitter edge. "Dad's a stubborn old man that still thinks he's living in the past. It was depressing being around him when I was in highschool. You should see his face every afternoon he sees me. It kills him and if he could fire me, he would. But, unfortunately he's not the boss and he doesn't have the grounds to do it. You know, you and mom leaving took a toll on him and I was only six at the time. I mean you've seen him, right? He's really, _really_ let himself go," her brother made a rude gesture to his stomach, "The house is proof of that too. The lawn's a goddamn mess."

Adam pulled out his key from his coat pocket and jammed it into the hole. After twisting the lock, he pushed the door open and its hinges whined as they rotated around their pins.

"After you, sis."

"What did dad do that was so wrong? Why did mom leave?"

There was nothing to see beyond the tunneling darkness of the house. Carmen could barely make out the staircase.

Her brother inhaled deeply and released a sigh. "Alot of things. He was a lousy husband for one. Not very religious like mom was, so he wasn't there to provide her the … spiritual support she needed. I'd also say they married too soon — should've waited until after college to have a feel for eachother's expectations — the marriage was bound to fall apart. That and he was out of the house, especially on the weekends. Dad just wasn't ready to be a father — he lacked the maturity. And when it came to sacrificing, he couldn't do it. Simple as that."

"He took care you," Carmen pointed out.

"Well, I guess."

"You still have the key to the house at least."

Adam looked down at his hand and nodded. "But what about you? How're you holding up?"

Carmen smiled forcefully. "Fine. I'm…" Her lips wobbled and the smile fell away into a frown. "N-not fine." Her eyelids pinched close to stop the tears that were hot in her eyes from rolling down her porcelain cheeks. "This afternoon got me sp-spooked and I still am…"

Her brother's hand pushed against the small of her back, guiding her into the shadowy foyer. "Paranoia has a way of tricking you into seeing monsters that don't exist," he said as he closed the door. "You can't be afraid of things that aren't there, Carmie."

There it was again.

 _Carmie…_

It was as though her mother were echoing in her ear.

The goosebumps rose on her skin. It didn't feel right to have him say an endearment which originally belonged to her mother. From his mouth, it was almost as though he were perverting it.

In the darkness, Carmen shook her head. "Some monsters hide in plain sight. I know what I saw."

She couldn't see her brother's expression, though his silhouette had moved into the kitchen and disappeared. She feared she would lose him to the shadows. But, with an audible click of the light switch, the dining room chandelier bathed the room in a yellowy luminescence, quelling her worries. "Did you have a chance to eat? Want a sandwich?" Adam asked where she couldn't see him.

The heels of her palms ground into her eyes to wipe away her tears. "I was about to do that." Her voice was gaining back volume. _Strength_. On the bright side of things, her father wasn't too hurt and by no time he'll be released from the hospital, and they'll get a second gun for protection so that she could use it too.

A little better, Carmen entered the kitchen, lips wobbling into a half smile.

"You know I was making a sandwich when—"

It was as though her throat had swollen shut because she could neither find the words to finish her sentence nor the voice to scream. Very quickly, she did not think anything was turning for the better.

Her frightened gaze wavered as she stared at the emotionless man with a mess of brown hair falling over his eyes and seated at the head of the dining room table.

From the kitchen sink, her brother briefly turned around, disturbingly bright as he waved a carving knife around in his hand. The blade glinted dangerously, almost tauntingly.

"Oh yeah, Carmen, meet Michael."

Her knees had gone incredibly soft as dread pierced her heart.

She didn't see her brother's toothy grin but she could hear the metal cling that came from his slamming down the knife on the counter.

"Michael Myers," he said.


	10. The Sandwich

Chapter Ten: The Sandwich

It had only then occurred to her to run after her brother tugged out a gun from the waistband of his pants, rested the weight of the weapon in his palm, and settled his finger on the trigger in the short time that she had registered the patient with his head bent sitting at the dining table in only a thin hospital gown.

Her eyes turned slowly — she refrained from making any sudden moves.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed, though she didn't sound as threatening as she wished she had because her brother grinned.

His green eyes had reached an odd tinge as Adam looked absolutely delighted — such delightment belonged to a madman. "Careful, she's your mom too." Then, he stepped closer, arm still rigid with this predatory smile that made her gut churn.

"That's dad's gun, isn't it?" She asked.

"What do you think?" He replied.

"Why?"

"For convenience." Her brother answered, nonchalant. "You should sit down Carmen, you look like you're going to faint." With the gun, he pointed at a spot on the dining table. He wanted her to sit down next to _him_. She thought Adam must be crazy— even more than he let on. When she didn't immediately comply, her brother titled the gun in his hand impatiently. "I said sit down. You don't want to know what happens if you don't."

The threat had brought a deeper frown to her face and Carmen forcefully shuffled forward with the soles of her sneakers dragging her back. Every step was agonizing, yet she moved carefully and slowly as though she were walking on pins. Her hands reached out to the backrest of the chair and pulled it out — its feet scraped against the floorboards with a screech. Even held at gunpoint, she was surprised she had not broken down to tears.

Her eyes unconsciously flitted to Michael Myers whose face was hidden under dirty blonde bangs.

Carmen lowered herself until her bottom hit the seat then looked straight down at her hands, so that she focused on nothing else. Limiting her eyesight had somehow amplified the sound of her heartbeat.

" _There_. Good girl," Adam said.

"You'll pay for this." She whispered, head bowed.

Her brother laughed and she found herself insulted. "Don't be a condescending cunt, Carmen."

The word stung her ears and then her eyes.

Adam went behind the kitchen counter and for a few minutes she heard dishes clatter and cupboards clap shut.

"You don't know our dad like I do," Adam said. "Ask him how well he's been doing trying to get the houses on this block sold. You think anyone wants to be next door neighbors with him? Only the old stubborn bag across the street is crazy enough to stay. But, that's because everyone else in this town knows she's nuts too..."

Her eyes drifted to Michael's large hands, corded with thick ugly scars, spread flat atop the table. Hands that have been stained with blood. The gentle smell of hospital corridors filtered into her nose.

Carmen quickly looked down at her own hands, clammy, cold, and shaky in her lap.

A plate slammed beside her and her eyes widened at the contents.

"Here, eat up." Adam said, sliding the sandwich in her direction. She didn't realize her brother was so terribly close. He emitted a funny stench— the _stale_ stench of body odor and dirt and perfume.

When bony fingers raked across the back of her scalp leaving her skin tingling with needles, she peered up at Adam. She tried to dissect his smile and found there were no traces of amusement.

"I said eat up."

Carmen didn't move and the ends of his lips curled tightly like a wicked coil. The increasing pressure of his hand on her head was quick and her face met the hard surface of the table with a clunk and pain was instant, spreading from her nose, jumping over to bridge the sensations across her eyes and then her cheek bones. Carmen trapped her tongue between her molars, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her hearing her scream. Blood trickled out of her nostrils and pooled into a sticky puddle below her mouth.

"You don't want to upset Michael, do you? He hates teenagers," he hissed.

She hadn't even questioned why her brother would be involved with the likes of Michael Myers, but she also considered, for a brief second that maybe Adam has been Michael's accomplice all this time.

 _Don't cry._

Finally, the girl shook her head as best she could with Adam holding it in place.

"Good. Now, apologize Carmen."

Carmen whimpered in response, sensing the gun was in his hand, the barrel inches from her temples. Adam crouched down and rasped into her ear. "The last thing I want is to see you get hurt."

And Carmen, despite the brutality her brother had so far shown her — this brutality so unlike their father— her kind father — believed him. Though she could not see him, she knew her brother had leaned back because she could no longer smell his foul breath.

" _Apologize_ to Michael," Adam said dully.

"I'm sorry... Michael." The moment she'd parted her lips to speak, the taste of blood burned its way down her throat. She closed her mouth and willed herself not to breathe so that the nauseous smack would vanish until she could no longer contain the air in her lungs.

"You make me proud, Carmie."

Once she realized his hand had left her head, Carmen was freed from her brother's harmful clutch. Her head lifted up slowly, confused as she was frightened when Adam stared at her intently then flickered a worried gaze at the ground.

"Good God, look what you made me do. I hate to see you bleed." Adam shook his head and holstered the gun in the waistband of his pants. It disappeared as soon as the tail of his wrinkly shirt dropped over it — she felt slightly better about her situation. For once, she felt hopeful. He turned away towards the kitchen sink with a frantic clumsiness that had him searching through the cupboards. Then, as Adam turned around to the oven, his back to the dining table, Carmen remembered that she wanted this day to end better than it had started.

xxx

The kitchen towel that had hung off the oven handle was in his hand when Adam spun around at the sound of heavy footsteps pounding against the floor, right before a loud bang resounded from the dining area.

"Carmen?"

Besides an overturned dining chair, he didn't see anything else out of place, but he assumed if he went into the foyer, the door would be wide open too, letting in that cold chill snaking around his ankles.

Adam cursed under his breath and grabbed the carving knife teetering on the edge of the kitchen sink, marching over to Michael. Within an arm's length of the notorious killer, Adam had to stifle a shiver from showing in his gait.

Adam rested the knife on the table in front of him.

"Well?" He said bitterly, forcing himself to sound as strong as he wished he could be — as threatening as he wished he could be. "Go get her."

The hand that was spread flat beside the knife, hovered over the handle and gripped it with furious vigor.

AN: This scene was half inspired by Pan's Labyrinth when Ophelia was with the Pale man.


	11. Rabbit Heart, Fox Maw

**AN: Alternating POV up ahead. And, I would like to extend my appreciation to the readers who have thus far followed/faved and commented on this story. Thank you for showing interest — it truly fuels my desire to write. With that said continue to R &R!**

 **Chapter Eleven: Rabbit Heart, Fox Maw**

Upon his entry into Smith's Grove, he'd told his doctor that he wanted to kill his younger sister with a box of crayons and scratch paper. After that admission, Michael earned his plea for insanity incredibly young. For what child could be capable of murder lest he was psychologically unhinged to begin with?

He wondered what Laurie would think of him.

Would she be proud of him, of her brother who is now so notoriously despised by Haddonfield that its residents ignorantly discount his existence? He certainly was humbled by it.

 _Oh Laurie…._

The thought of his sister…

 _oh, sweet, little Laurie_

 _His ageless obsession_

 _His undoing_.

… consumed him entirely, purely as though morphine had entrapped his thoughts as he crossed the street, entering the edge of the forest and lured by the harsh breaths of a nobody girl.

Not often did he think of Laurie, but the way this girl's legs were pumping, the way she threw frantic glances over her shoulder, was so eerily familiar to when — almost a year from today — his Laurie fled from him shrieking through the neighborhood that had answered her hysterical cries none.

His gait was constant but his chase was gaining distance. She was fast — the image of her profile grew smaller with each passing moment. Several yards in front of him, she tripped over a protruding root and he knew instantly clumsiness befit her.

When Michael heard her distressed scream blare achingly into his ears, he hoped she had injured something.

He hoped it was the ankle.

But, from the distance illuminated poorly by the fall moon — he saw the girl stumble to her feet and continue her escape. He followed her all the same with the knife gripped in his hand. As the forest thickened, he swiped at dangling branches and bushes to clear his path. For a few moments, he could no longer hear the dry leaves crunch under the girl's feet besides his own.

At some point, when he'd reached a hundred paces since entering the dark woods, Michael came to a halt. There were no sounds above his controlled breathing. The absence of noise from nocturnal creatures on the prowl made for a rather suspenseful ambience. It seemed the entire forest had waited in bated breath since his arrival. As Michael scanned the foliage surrounding him, the wind whispered over fallen oak leaves, blowing them towards his bare feet.

For all the times he was kept in solitary confinement, it would not be hard to believe that he'd mastered patience. But, the cold air breathing upon his cheeks bothered him _immensely_. He had never felt so exposed, so insecure. The need to conceal himself was becoming gravely irritating. It didn't make better the situation that he hardly had half the motivation to continue traipsing through the woods for a silly teenager whose brother seemed perfectly capable of capturing her himself. Michael contemplated changing his current direction but if she were half as foolish — like so many before her — then she would've fled in a straight line through the forest.

He paced forward then, passing through the towering shadow of a willow, when, from the corner of his eye, he registered the blur of ivory wood swing in a low arc behind the tree.

The thick branch snapped upon collision with his abdomen. His teeth sank into the wall of his mouth as he dropped his knife, staggering backwards.

A frightened gasp, short and soft, spilled from quivering lips when the other half of the log fell to the ground. He'd seen her face, pinched with regret as though she'd never hurt anyone before. Then, the girl spun on her heel.

 _Not so fast._

Michael's hand flew and caught her wrist, yanking— _hard_ — which forced the girl to her knees.

Sprawled flat on her stomach, Carmen scrambled, clawing at the ground. Her feet had positioned themselves to propel her forward into a crouching sprint when a violent tug on her ankle pulled her back and she was eating dirt again.

"No!" she cried, "No! No please, st—!"

Carmen grunted in surprise when his wiry mass crawled onto the small of her back, pinning her to the forest floor. Thick fingers tangled into her black mane and jerked her face upwards. Her spine popped, but her fear effectively blocked out any realization that there could have been pain.

A face came into view above her— masculine, dangerous, terrifying — and black eyes drilled into her with clinical disinterest. Carmen couldn't blink, even with tears casting a watery film over her eyes, blurring her vision.

She released a sob from full lips as a hand forced her face into the earth. His body lifted off of her briefly and briefly did she draw in a haggard breath, cold air spilling into her ribcage. Suddenly, fingers dug into either side of her hip with rough demand and her vision whipped around as she was flipped onto her back.

Carmen cut off her sob for a scream as soon as their pelvises met, the heated contact seeped through the cotton fabric of her skirt. Then, Michael established a grip on her throat, bolstering her panic to reach an extremely frightening degree. As something within her snapped, Carmen relentlessly kicked beneath him for all the strength stored in her. He could have easily been eighty pounds heavier than her, yet she thrashed and screamed because there was nothing more critical to her than her life and her breath.

Until, Michael pressed down onto her trachea, repressing the air from exiting her quivering lungs.

He could break her neck. He wouldn't even have to try. How vulnerable she was now than she ever would be in her short existence. She was at his mercy. He could commit unto her a great deal of atrocities, even here, in the woods, where if one did hear her scream would mistaken the sound for that of a dying animal or convince themselves that it was. The thought was fleeting. But, he refrained.

Though her round eyes did make for an enticing offer. If he squeezed a little harder, dug the pads of his fingers deeper into the artery where he could feel her fluttering pulse, maybe he could coax her pale eyes to widen a tad further as she clawed at his wrist, blunt nails biting into his skin.

Then, as though he had actually done what his mind suggested, she went limp.

It occurred to him that he should've released her sooner. Slightly perplexed, he realized he didn't even need to try — not that he would ever have to, not that anyone has, but, this was effortless and her resilience was truly pathetic. _Weak_. His surprise dwindled quickly, however, and whatever exhilaration had come as a result of this chase dissipated as if it had never been.

Slowly, his hands slipped from the smooth column of her neck.

Eager to return indoors, he kneeled and grasped the curve of her waist. He ignored how her flesh molded in his palm as he tossed her over his shoulder...

And thought in the second that he felt her body tense and a sharp object pierce below his shoulder blades that maybe the girl wasn't so incompetent.

Rolling off of his shoulder, she flopped onto the forest floor and broke off in a sprint.

Michael spared three seconds to swallow the slime of something thick and iron between the roof of his mouth and tongue, then rose to his feet with anger set ablaze in his chest. His hand reached around his waist and eased the knife from his flesh.

The sight of blood never unnerved him, but finding his on a blade he intended to use on others frayed his nerves to the very last thread.

Ahead of him, he stared at the trees coated in shadow.

 _Carmen…_

She wasn't his sister.

But, for Michael, she would have to do.


	12. The Officer

**AN: Just to let everyone know, the character Jimmy in this story is not to be confused with the Jimmy in Halloween II played by Lance Guest. They are two completely different characters.**

 **Chapter Twelve: The Officer**

Officer Deeney fiddled with the radio dial as he drove down the darkened road in the steel protection of his cruiser.

Like many nights, tonight was exceptionally unexciting. And it was always better that way.

After filing the Does' break in, he went to patrolling the backwoods — his usual routine. Ever since his superior announced doubling patrol shifts the closer they approached Halloween, Officer Deeney dreaded the holiday.

The entire station discreetly understood that Sheriff Bracket, unlike most fathers who'd blame themselves for the death of their children, had developed a worrying obsession with Michael Myers. _Of which he couldn't tell was the lesser of two evils._ One year later, what remained of this broken man was the determination that no other father would suffer the same loss he did. For that, he had Officer Deeney's sympathies but, not his favor.

Five hundreds yards ahead, he spotted a pair of headlights glare at him from the gloom.

 _Three hundred._

 _Two._

 _Closer. Closer._

The growl of its engine vibrated in his ears.

He couldn't help the unwanted sense of foreboding that came with its arrival. It was probably nothing. He guessed that Doe girl still got to him—

 _What's wrong with her, Mrs. Harber?_

 _You'd think I'd know? The poor thing hasn't said a peep since she got here. What took you boys so long?_

 _Miss Doe, can you hear me? Miss Doe..._

He'd found her in Regina Harber's living room, curled in the woman's side as they both sat on a battered loveseat, with a look which stared at nothing or through everything. Whatever that girl had heard or seen in that house, he bet her imagination was far crueler than what reality foretold.

 _Fifty feet._

Closer now, Officer Deeney's eyes flashed to the windshield of a Ford pickup on impulse, glancing at the driver when his heart had turned to rock. The car had sped past fifty feet when the police cruiser swung around, fender hugging the shoulder of the road, tires screeching in protest as Officer Deeney performed a sharp U-turn.

Stepping on the gas and flanking the side of the Ford, the officer swerved in front of the car and decelerated until the driver yielded and both vehicles came to a stop.

Officer Deeney jumped out of his car, hand positioned on his holster. As he tiptoed to the driver's side, the driver fingered the edge of the white mask and peeled it off his familiar face so that it rested on his head, bunched around the crown.

Relief quickly flooded him, but that didn't make him any less fooled.

 _But, he thought he saw…_

Officer Deeney pulled himself together and marched up to the driver side.

The driver rolled down the window, lidded hazel eyes glowering at the officer. At his belt, Officer Deeney took out his flashlight and shined it at the boy who'd squinted up at the blinding beam.

"Evenin', James. How's your mother doing?"

The frown he received worsened into a sneer. "No offense, Officer Deeney, but it's 'Jimmy.' And, that's none of your business."

"Alright, Jimmy…" Officer Deeney's expression remained stony, even if the sly look Bonfim shot at him tried his fist. "Have you been drinking this evening?"

"It's a Friday night…" Bonfim shrugged. "So, _no_ sir." His smirk slid across his face like a liquid spill.

When the man bent slightly forward at the waist, he barely caught the flash of long smooth legs. Officer Deeney ticked his head. "And who's the young lady accompanying you?"

Bonfim took a long look at the girl beside him and so did Officer Deeney who'd quickly gotten over his curiosity for the girl's scant dress.

"A friend," the boy replied casually.

Officer Deeney frowned slightly and peered into the window, shining his flashlight over the curtain of her hair covering her face, blond head leaning on the window.

"Excuse me miss, you mind telling me your name?"

When she hadn't moved, a picture of his beautiful ten year old daughter flickered in his mind tauntingly and he glared at the boy. Jimmy Bonfim had tried to be discreet when he gulped, but the act spurred on the man's suspicions.

"I'm going to have to ask you to get out of the car."

Jimmy gaped, mouth twitching with the beginnings of an insult. "You can fuck right off man, I don't like uptight assholes ruining my weekend."

Officer Deeney brandished his gun from his hip.

The boy stared at him, jaw clenched in thought— considering his options.

"And I don't like asking twice," Officer Deeney warned. "Get out."

With an exasperated groan, Bonfim swung the driver's door outward, nearly hitting Officer Deeney had the man not leapt back, and raised his hands above his head as he stepped out.

The boy's costume unsettled him. Richard mentioned that Jimmy Bonfim had a troubling obsessed with the crimes of Michael Myers. Most of the town was aware of it, though they tried to pass it off as harmless even if the boy had dodged a few sexual assault accusations over this past summer.

 _Boys would be boys, right?_

 _But this..._

Acting without thinking, which he rarely did, Officer Deeney took a fistful of the boy's mechanic suit near the collar and slammed him into the side of the car, pointing the muzzle beneath his chin.

"What the fuck! You're fucking crazy!" Jimmy exclaimed, wincing as Officer Deeney pushed him back so roughly one would think he were trying to ground the boy to dust using the frame of the truck.

"Oh yeah? Is there a reason you're dressed like that? Like that lunatic Myers? Tell me, _Jimmy_ , what are you taking? Because I bet your ass you aren't even half as loaded as that girl inside your car."

"Now I get why Ricky Dicky has got such a massive stick up his ass. His daddy's a trigger happy asshole."

The smirk crawling on his face incited Officer Deeney to thrust the muzzle harder against his chin.

An ear splitting scream pierced the night sky and shook his resolve. His gun hand lowered in surprise. His second's distraction allowed Jimmy to duck under Officer Deeney's arm.

"Hey! Come back here!" Officer Deeney swiped at his sleeve but failed to grab it.

"Eat it, motherfucker!"

A flash of dark blue of the mechanic's suit bolted for the cover of the trees and brush thicket bordering the road. Officer Deeney would've severed his tongue by how hard he grit his teeth.

He was so close.

 _So close._

 _Damn._

"Help me! _Help me_!"

The man turned to the source of those blood curdling pleas and his eyes landed on a figure barrelling towards him from the direction that James Bonfim had escaped. Her black hair was in disarray. Her clothes were rumpled as if wrung straight out of the washer. Bloodstains flecked the front of her blouse and red was smattered on her upper lip.

Nose bleed.

"Miss...Doe?"

"Officer Deeney! Please—Michael Myers—Michael Myers…" Her speech degenerated into tearful gibberish when she grabbed the front of the man's jacket, one palm clutching the sewn badge of "Warren County" at his bicep. She could've been drowning by how hard she clung to him.

 _Drowning in a tank with sharks._

"Pl-please!" she sputtered.

Officer Deeney took a breath. "Okay, Carmen, tell me what happened."

"My brother's insane."

He arched an eyebrow at her critically.

"He's the one who broke into our home, knocked out my father. But, he didn't really break into it because he has a key!" she rambled. "He took the _gun_ , and he has Michael Myers with him! I don't know how he got there, please don't ask. I don't know. I don't know."

Officer Deeney sighed, and stowed away his weapon at his hip. He didn't have time to deal with some girl's outrageous make believe when the real threat stemmed from a perverted eighteen year old who running rampant through the forest. "Carmen, _I get it_. This evening's gotten to your head. But, there's nothing to be afraid—"

Carmen silenced him with a snarl, shoving him away. Desperation no longer laced her voice and the ferocity of her words seemed to sober her from the intoxication of her hysteria. After that outburst, he almost believed her, except he didn't.

"I know what I saw! I'm not crazy!"

Officer Deeney straightened, showing his palms to placate her. "Please calm down. I'm sorry for discrediting you. I'm only concerned for your safety."

At that, her face relaxed and fell into her hands. "I'm sorry, Officer Deeney. Y-you're right."

Officer Deeney took a step towards her, reaching into his front pocket for an unused handkerchief and offered it to her. "Good. Take this and wipe your face…" he directed, "Remember to compose yourself. You can take a breather, you're safe."

Carmen did as she was told. Lifting her head, she inhaled deeply through nostrils, raking back the unruly hair webbed over her face with her fingers.

She wiped around her mouth and handed him back the small square cloth.

"It's fine — you can keep it," he said, in which she stuffed it into her skirt pocket.

Officer Deeney's lips pressed into a thin line. He wanted to believe she was harmless, but the nonsense leaving her mouth gave him good reason to think this girl deserved a visit to Smith's Grove.

" _Now_ …" Officer Deeney said. "Have you consumed any narcotics in the last few hours?"

"What?" She looked at him sharply. "Am I — no! I'm not! Why don't you believe me?"

"First off, I didn't say that...I just need rationalize this — get all the facts. I'm willing to take you to the station. Somewhere safe. Then, afterwards, you have my ear. I promise." He reached out and held both her shaking hands in one of his own, squeezing reassuringly while the other inched around to his back.

Carmen noted the sincerity in his gesture and nodded vigorously, so desperate that she barely noticed the glint of metal in his other hand. "Yes! Anywhere but here!"

"Okay then."

Swiftly, he clapped cufts over both her wrists and before the realization of her detainment could hit her full force, Officer Deeney gripped her upper arm and led her to the cruiser.

"What are you doing? This is a mistake!" She wrenched away from his grasp as though his touch was burning her. Though, he held firm, so firm he worried that bruises would coat her arms in a few hours.

" _This,"_ Officer Deeney emphasized, "is for your safety." He ushered her into the back seat of the cruiser and pushed her head down, closing the door. With Carmen Doe no longer wailing in his ear, he could finally think. Plan.

Check on the girl in Bonfim's truck.

 _Right._

 _Good decision._

Impulsively, he glanced at the rear window of his cruiser. He shouldn't have done it, he should've looked the other way, because seeing Carmen's desperate gaze made his heart twist uncomfortably.

"Please, you don't know what you're doing! I'm going to be killed!" Her yells were half as loud now but they struck.

When her eyes flicked over his shoulder, her face paled with alarm.

"Oh God!" She jammed her finger against the glass. "He's there! Behind you! Shoot him!" She demanded.

It was the last thing he saw when someone anchored a strong hand on his shoulder and whirled him around. An intrusive sensation of a paper cut sliced across his throat. When his hands snapped to his neck, there was something wrong when his palms became slick with thick globs of fluid that rolled down to his elbows.

 _Officer Deeney!_

He heard Carmen's voice from the inside of the cruiser reduce to hopeless, incomprehensible whimpers.

Officer Deeney hesitated, knees growing weak. "You're…" he stammered, eyes traveling up the collar of a blue mechanic's uniform, up the chin of the mask, up the white curve of his rubber clad cheek.

A realization filled his head.

 _This was not Jimmy Bonfim._

He managed a gurgle.

" _You're…him_."

Officer Deeney's vision toppled as his body sank to the ground with a thud.

Black eyes watched his demise unravel.

Officer Deeney's mouth moved to form words, but his voice had abandoned him, and whatever sentence had formed on his tongue went unfinished as darkness consumed him for the very last time.


	13. The Groan

**Chapter Thirteen: The Groan**

Officer Deeney's blood drained onto the road and the sight reminded her of the evening she'd found her mother's corpse hanging from the bedroom door knob. At the time, she thought nothing could possibly be worse than that.

O _h_ , was she wrong.

Michael drew closer with every step, dressed in a mechanic's ensemble. Headlights from the Ford truck behind him cast shadows over the white mask.

A dry sob escaped her mouth.

The king of her nightmares was here.

When the car door opened, autumn air tinged with the scent of Officer Deeney's blood billowed into the cramped space and gooseflesh pelted her skin. The only comfort she could draw from her surroundings was the gentle hum of the cruiser's running engine and the abrasive static murmuring from the car radio.

She couldn't hear herself screaming as though she blew out her eardrums. Or, maybe, she wasn't even screaming at all. All she could do was watch her cuffed fists fly and her feet launch at Michael Myers. Yet, his hand seized one of her ankles and slid her body forward so that both legs were on either side of his waist. Her skirt which would sway past her knees when she walked, now bunched around her hips and she could feel the rough fabric of his overalls glide against her skin.

"Please, don't do this," Carmen whispered, voice strained. She cupped her hands to her chest, feeling small like her hopes. "I—" the tip of knife pressed against her throat had stalled her words.

As she clenched her eyes shut, imaginary splatters of blood flashed in her retinas.

 _Not like this..._

Michael shifted his hips, leaning closer to her, and her eyelids snapped open. It was so intimate. So close. Unease scurried up her spine. Was this how she would die? In a killer's embrace?

 _This is cruel._

"I'm sor—sorry for stabbing you!" she squeaked as a last ditch effort to appeal to his mercy, if such a concept existed in him. "Please, I don't want to die like this! Please, please! I'm not ready, I'm sorry! I'll do anything, Michael. Anything!" Carmen sobbed.

 _Now is not the time to beg. He's about to gut you like a fish._

She watched the point skim down the front of her blouse, stopping above the organ thrumming heavily in the cage of her chest. Looking up, she found herself ensnared by a stare so still it made the world seem like it was spinning.

This man may not have blinked, but when she thought he did, a silver glint lingered on the edge of her vision. She flinched back when he brought the knife to her face, swiping away an ebony lock that had fallen over her eyes.

Lowering his knife wielding hand to the seat to support him, he used the other to comb his fingers through her hair. With his weight hovering over her she could finally see how her body dwarfed in the shadow of his. _He's so much bigger than me_. Carmen thought she had every right to be afraid as his hand tangled itself in her black, lank locks, as the pads of his fingers pressed against her scalp, imparting heat on her skin.

Michael titled Carmen's head and she could feel his eyes studying her face. Above her frantic breaths, she could hear Michael's, echoing beneath the rubber of his mask. Harsh. Measured. She imagined them at her ear—

 _against her skin…_

—and shivered.

Like the flicking of a switch, strands of her hair were pulled taut, threatening to spring out of their follicles as he crawled out of the backseat, dragging Carmen by the hair.

Once they were both out of the cruiser, she stood with her head held at an odd angle from how tightly wound his fingers were to her scalp. Through the holes of the mask she could see the yawning black of his eyes.

Michael cocked his head and his knife hand leveled in front of her face, corded with white scars that extended up his arms, likely branching out beneath what his clothes could hide too. She recalled someone telling her about the accident at Haddonfield Memorial when Michael had supposedly perished in the fire.

 _Wherein the flames you'll find the devil._

She stared at the blade glinting in her eyes, then at him. He squeezed the fist in her hair and she winced.

For good measure.

"I won't run… I'll listen to you."

Michael Myers hadn't uttered a word, but when his fist loosened, Carmen's heart surged and she fell to her knees. So shaken with relief that her body couldn't support her.

 _He's letting you live… Or he's waiting for you to die._

The metal of her right cuff bit into her wrist, leaving a red ring on her skin.

Tentatively, she crawled away from Michael and yelped when there was a tug at her hip. Tossing a weary glance over her shoulder, she saw the heel of his shoe pinning the hem of her skirt — now a tattered canvas of dirt stains.

Carmen gulped as she found the pale mask staring down at her questioningly. She showed him her hands, encircled by cuffs. "I— I wanted to get the key and get rid of these..."

Could one sound any more afraid? A sinking feeling formed in her stomach at the likelihood that he'd deny her because why else would he grant her the freedom of her hands when she'd already hurt him once with them already?

When he hadn't lifted his foot, the gray gaze that was fixed on him intently averted to the ground. Michael didn't move.

The area fell quiet.

Until, inside the passenger seat of the Ford Truck, an inebriated girl awoke with a groan.


	14. The Revolver

**Chapter Fourteen: The Revolver**

 _I wish..._

 _You'd stop looking at me—_

 _Like that._

The pale indifference of his mask made her feel less than human.

Finally, she heard the deliberate tappings against concrete of Michael walking away.

What control he had on her nerves, they weren't subject to it anymore. But, her relief was short lived when that same feminine groan she heard earlier fell upon her ears.

She looked back at her hands guiltily. Was this cost of her wish? For someone else to fall victim to him?

As Michael to the passenger side of the truck, Carmen crawled over to Officer Deeney's body and cut off her breathing. With shaking hands, she patted down his pockets, careful to avoid the blood puddle under him.

She frisked the body in search of a key that would uncuff her and found it in his right cheek pocket. As determined as she was, curiosity trained her eyes and Carmen beheld a red smile carved upon Officer Deeney's neck. Glassy eyes reflected the image of the fluttering hem of her blouse that had come untucked from her skirt.

 _Remember to compose yourself_.

She breathed through her mouth. She flexed her fingers. In a few dexterous motions, the cuffs were gone.

"Jimmy what… the fuck!?"

Jimmy?

Carmen knew a "Jimmy". A disturbed Jimmy Bonfim who had a morbid fascination with—

The sound of a girl's cry singed her ears and Carmen's conscience became unusually heavy.

When Carmen looked, she saw that Michael wrung a blonde girl with his one hand wrapped around the front of her neck. Her thin arms reached back to land a punch.

Carmen spared a few moments to wonder what had happened before — _why had Officer Deeney stopped the truck? Where was the driver? Didn't that girl look like someone from school?—_

And thought just as quickly that knowing wouldn't make a hell of a difference.

Her eyes darted through the window of the police cruiser. The engine still ran. The keys were in the ignition. With Officer Deeney dead, she could run now and none of tonight would tie back to her.

 _Coward_.

Then, doubt turned into a solid in her mind, almost like a tumor.

Why should she have a responsibility for a stranger who was about to be brutalized or slaughtered? Every one deserved a good tragedy. Besides, the dead always taught better lessons than the living. Maybe, the family ought to have their daughter die. Serves them right for not keeping a better eye on her.

 _Oh, how cruel is death that without it we would take life for granted_.

But, but, but…

Carmen wanted to cry again.

 _Michael would kill her._

Swinging her gaze around, with a heart like thunder in her chest, Carmen caught sight of a .357 Magnum revolver tucked in Officer Deeney's belt.

Carmen gulped, even though her throat was dry to the bone.

 _Michael will kill her._

 _Was that something she could live with?_


	15. The Blonde

**Chapter Fifteen: The Blonde**

When his hand tugged back the door handle, the girl's head fell limp to the other shoulder away from the window and he couldn't help but think that if he wasn't who he was maybe his mind could've processed she was pretty. The girl looked around, bewildered and obviously inebriated.

"Jimmy?"

No, Michael replied in thought.

 _Worse_.

He grabbed the girl by the scruff of her neck and pulled her out of her seat. As she stumbled onto the roadway on wobbly heeled feet he seized the base of her collar and slammed her flush against his front so quickly that she jerked in surprise.

"Jimmy what… the fuck?" The girl swung her arms outward, alert as much as her daze could allow. One arm elbowed his ribs. Didn't she know that struggling only made it worse?

"Getttt your hands off of me, you perrrvert psycho." Her outcry was a half slur.

He studied her and told himself it was not the dirty blonde hair over her breasts that reminded him of his older sister. Nor the dark tint of makeup garnishing the ring of her brown eyes. Not the bare legs that seemed to extend forever under her dress.

None of that.

Michael committed few victims to memory. But, even their faces were strained images at most. The only face with the honor to be remembered with every detail so strictly cherished, was the one that got away…

 _Laurie._

But, with his black eyes on the blonde's face he'd admit she looked akin to Judith because in those mere seconds before her death Judy had the same look. A look that says she can't expect what's coming for her.

He concluded this girl would bring him some gratification of reliving the night he had killed his sister. Maybe, doing this would also quell the voices.

"Michael!"

Ill silence befell them as the girl stiffened in his hand, her screams faltered. Misguided hope must've given her the idea that someone had come to her rescue. For that, Michael would've pitied her if he knew what pity was.

Finally, he turned his eyes frontward.

"D-don't hurt her! I'll… I'll shoot," Carmen said.

He stared at the end of the barrel leveled below her eyes. Why wasn't he surprised that she'd taken the liberty to free her hands?

When the colorless glaciers of Carmen's eyes sharpened into a glare, Michael's breath hitched and he decided he would be amused.

Slowly, his fingers dug into the muscles of the blonde's neck which yielded to his grip like dough. Her pert mouth, opening and gasping, provoked an enraged cry to stumble from Carmen's lips.

"No!"

He heard the bullet whistle past his ear, puncturing the trunk of a dead tree. The shot missed, but he'd stilled his hands.

That's to say, he didn't stop because he feared she'd see through with her threats. In any given situation, he perpetrated fear and he'd have it no other way.

He stopped because he wanted to give her the illusion that he did.

Carmen visibly gulped. With her jaw clenched, he could see the angles of her face as she tried to collect herself from the recoil. Her grip was unsteady. All good signs. For a second, he thought he was losing his game.

Now, it nagged at him that she missed because she was probably a lousy shot. _Is_ a lousy shot. He would like to guess how many times she's ever even _touched_ a gun.

"I'll do it! I'll...I _will_ kill you. But...But, if you let her go, I'll lower the gun." She steeled herself which allayed the quiver in her voice. "You can't kill her."

His thoughts gave a brief pause.

' _Can't'_?

'C _an't'_ implied he didn't have a choice.

Now, his life hinged on proving her wrong.

With the knife intimate in his hand, he released the pendulum of his fist in one swift downward motion. Metal plunged through skin and cracked through the enclosure of her ribs. He felt the resistance of an organ being punctured, gushing out blood around steel.

The fading of her heartbeat faintly traveled to the handle.

 _This_ was intimacy.

 _Oh, Judy…_

The hallucination of his older sister floated over his vision then faded away with the ghost of her scream.

 _MICHAEL!_

The blonde's brown eyes stared wider and wider in agony like her painted mouth. Her voice, first shrill, had thinned to a high animalistic creening of sputters and gasps. But, it wasn't enough.

 _It's never enough._

Flipping the position of his hand, he dragged the path of the knife down towards her navel and came across the bone of her rib before jerking past it.

When he withdrew the knife, her flesh was parted from breast to hip. Blood worked its way down the front of her dress, down the slope of her sun-kissed legs. As the last gleam of light left her eyes, her body hung in Michael's hand by the neck.

He hated it when they died too soon.

Releasing his grip, the blonde sank to the puddle of her blood. He angled his mask towards Carmen again.

Would it be too much to say he was pleased by what he saw?

Pleased by the barrel of the revolver dipping in hesitation. Pleased with the tears rolling down her porcelain expression— an expression frosted with loss.

He couldn't quite say _why_ this pleased him — it simply did.

Her whimper was a single word — Michael wished he could hear it again.

"No…"

 _Yes_.

Besides _,_ after all she'd done, Carmen _can't_ be ungrateful to him. It could have been her in the girl's place.

AN: Thank you for all the positive feedback on Michael's POV so far. If future chapters in his POV are below your expectations let me know in a review, and I'll straighten up my act pronto- I don't wanna tarnish his gracefully murderous character and the best way I can gauge that is through the audience.

Also, I know a reviewer brought this up, but as a forewarning, we won't be seeing semi-romantic interactions yet. Carmen is gonna need to reconcile Michael's situation first. However for Michael...


	16. The Rush

**Chapter Sixteen: The Rush**

 _It wouldn't be too much to say that Michael had needs. Like food. Adequate rest. A knife. Preferably sharpened. Within arms reach._

 _Similarly, he also, though rarely, had wants._

 _Not to be confused with meager desires for comfort. He never needed that. He only ever had want of a need._

 _Like now._

 _When he espied that boy in the thicket of the trees, through the drooping branches snagging at his hospital gown, wearing the face, the skin— his identity, his trademark — Michael decided he had to die, unquestionably._

 _So, he predicted the boy's path down into a gully where one's inattentiveness could result in a fatal trip, and with much more care of where his feet landed, Michael stalked forward, using the shade of the trees as his cover._

 _The boy was so close now. Michael could hear his erratic breaths, could nearly feel the temperature of his body amid the frigid night air. His pulse thrummed so excitedly there was an echo to it in his chest. It almost dulled the throb of his bleeding side._

 _Michael's fist clenched hard around the handle of the knife. The burning sensation of sliced nerves had spread down to his hip like a disease. Every breath came with a gurgling within his right lung. Pain that should've subsided long ago, seared his flesh, branding him anew. All because of that—_

 _He told himself not to think about something that would only serve to distract him; he assured himself he'd have his revenge. Preferable sooner rather later because a girl her age would be busy wrapping her legs around silly, horny boys, or thinking about wrapping her legs around silly, horny boys. And he'd surely get her back when she decided to fuck a juvenile meatbag in her bedroom._

 _Suddenly, that thought was not comforting anymore. It made him angrier._

 _A surprised shout and a hollow crack caused Michael to peer around a tree. His hands curled into fists as he marched forward taking no heed to liking quieted footsteps towards the boy now lain prostrate at his feet, body half sunk in a carpet of leaves._

 _And his neck broken._

Gray, so cold.

"No…"

Her gray eyes held Michael for so long he thought he would lose himself in that colorless void.

 _Why Michael? Why? Why are you so cruel? You deserve to burn in Hell._ He could almost hear it in her dainty shaped head, in the lilt of her voice. The judgement.

 _Just say it._

"You're a monster…" Carmen whispered.

Michael agreed.

Her finger hovered indecisively over the trigger. The gun could have jumped out of her hands by how hard she trembled. The decision of whether she should fire a second round was made obvious on her face. She did not want to shoot.

Had she heard of the story? That he'd sustained one bullet to the head, five in the chest, two in the eyes and survived? He wouldn't boast, it was a fact. Maybe, she was thinking of how futile it would be to kill him. It would explain her hesitation. He could never die.

But…

He'd still like to see her try.

Not that he was particularly interested in knowing what would await him beyond death. But, this curiosity was for the same reason Michael yearned for Laurie.

His sister...

So unlike his other victims.

She made him work for it.

The hushed rustlings of the forest grew louder, as his musings receded to the back of his mind. He decided she wouldn't shoot. She couldn't. He could confidently wager from the uncertainty on her delicate and silly and naive face that she. Wouldn't. Shoot.

Couldn't.

 _He was fine with that._

Michael stepped forward.

 _Bang!_

Blinding white.

Pain.

In the center of his sternum.

"You're a monster!"

It was that, and then four more times.

 _Bang—Bang—Bang—Bang._

Each shot went off in quick succession. The knife in his hand clattered to the concrete as he stumbled backwards until his back hit the trunk of a tree.

His chin dropped to his chest. His ears rang. His muscles quivered. Blood dripped out of him in globs. He was bleeding. Actually. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be this close to mortality.

This was awful.

This was why he never liked guns. A piercing shot delivered instant pain— there was nothing subtle about it. No art, no skill. And she'd unloaded a full revolver…A full _fucking_ revolver. This girl obviously didn't know how to conserve her resources.

He wasn't known for his optimism, though he noted with some relief that she wouldn't be firing any more bullets. He assured himself he would be fine.

Until, blood appeared on the front of his coveralls.

 _Click. Click. Click._

Michael looked up from his wounds at Carmen who kept dry firing the revolver — _what an idiot_ \- as his hands groped to cover them. Pressure would keep him from…

What was he thinking? He didn't die, but even that reminder couldn't keep his hands from shaking. Was this shock? He tried to recall the night Dr. Loomis had shot him, the night Laurie had shot him, when an inferno licked his skin, burned his pores. No man could dream of enduring so much and Michael recovered from them all. But, the pain then was nothing in comparison to now.

The blood was cooling around his fingers.

For the first time, Michael didn't know what to do.

For the first time, he was worried.

A car's engine rumbled from far away. Specks of its yellowy headlights grew as it closed the distance. Quickly, Carmen crouched behind the police cruiser. In her hand, she gripped the revolver with such force that the tendons in her wrist forged through her skin. She shot a scathing glare at Michael whose surroundings were sliding out of focus.

Meeting her eyes set off a hot rush down the well of his stomach— it wasn't from the pain.


	17. The Confession

AN: shout out to the new reviewer whose left alot of reviews on this fic, I'm grateful for your encouragement. To the reviewer addressing Carmen's character development, thank you for giving me the heads up. I'd hate for her chapters to be bland and nauseating to read. I believe it's after this chapter that she's going to be less despondent as she has been throughout this story.

 **Chapter Seventeen: The Confession**

Halted in front of the cruiser, the engine to the Ford two seater had cut off, and the driver's door opened.

Settling his attention on two corpses - one scantily clad corpse lingered in his sight for a staggering moment - a look of praise crossed Adam's pallid face before he looked at Michael.

"Let's see...I'm guessing Carmie got away?"

A beat, and then...

"She's right here, you motherfucker," Carmen rose from cover, arm poised with the revolver.

"Ooh." Adam feigned hurt, then winked. "Right on the mark."

"Did you think you wouldn't get caught if Myers killed me?" Carmen asked.

His laugh was an answer she didn't like.

"Kill you?" Her brother's voice suddenly lost its humor. "I'm sure if he was supposed to, you'd be dead by now. But, if you're so eager, he'll get around to it. I mean he doesn't look so good now, but he can't die so you'll get what's coming to you eventually."

 _He can't die._

Had she heard Adam right?

But, that's impossible…

Everyone died. They had to if they were human.

 _If_.

Adam didn't allow for her to process that revelation when he stepped closer.

"Stop." Her eyes were hard and aligned the barrel with gleaming jade leering at her. She'd made her decision to stand her ground the moment Michael decided to kill that girl, and she wasn't letting up now.

Although his smile widened, Adam did stop and she tried not to be bothered by the fact that…

 _There aren't anymore bullets._

Adam must've had their father's pistol tucked underneath his baggy shirt. Once he discovered her ruse, he could shoot her in the knees and ensure she would never be able to run again.

Her confidence faltered slightly.

"You know, when it's not the night of Samhain, his game really slips. Ain't that right, buddy?" Adam looked at Michael and stuck his thumb in his direction. Michael didn't give any indication of answering, so Adam dropped his hand and shook his head disapprovingly. "Can't talk— that one."

"What's 'Samhain'?" She had never heard of the word before until now.

"Oh, you know, last night of the harvest? Festival of the dead? Evils roam the lands." When it hadn't dawned on her, Adam looked appalled. "Come on, Carmen, you're hurting me here! _Halloween_! Fucking Halloween!"

"That doesn't exist."

"Sounds like mother talking." He shook his head and his face lit up as though he remembered something. He opened his palms and looked at them. "I wonder if you feel just like her."

 _Feel just like her?_

"What are you talking about?"

His lips gave an ironic twist.

He was baiting her, but Carmen couldn't resist asking. Knowing— because she loathed secrets. The truth was her right. No matter how painful it could be.

"What am I talking about? That hurts me," He said, "But I can't be too disappointed with you. Just this time, you have my forgiveness. _You_ , of all people, couldn't have known."

A pause and Adam chuckled. Carmen tried to think of the worst possible thing as he cleared his throat and sucked in a breath.

Then, he let it out.

"I killed her — I killed our mother."

Her grip weakened, and in the center of her mind there existed a high pitched ring.

"Phew! Glad I let that one out!," Adam said.

"You're lying. She... committed suicide." Her voice was hollowed, robbed of the emotion which had instead fled to her chest, to her eyes.

"And I did a damn good job at making it look like one." Her brother said, "But, Mama was bound to do it one day. You knew this Carmen, didn't you? Every year around this time of year, she calls in the boss and gives a sappy excuse that she's sick — needs a few days off. Then she takes her cigarettes, a cold bottle of liquor, and sits in the living room, probably mopes."

Adam threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "And you probably told the police this! That's why the coroner ruled it as a suicide."

Anger was a furnace in her chest. Though she couldn't say what had caused it. Her brother's confession, or her own ignorance?

His hands fell to his sides, Adam's eyes crinkled and his smile became broad. "Do you want to know how I killed her?"

Carmen forced a tiny voice. "No."

"I think you were at practice— you're a real runner aren't you, Carmen? Interested in joining state championships one day? No? Makes sense why you're so fast. But you could never make it could you? I wonder why." He trailed off as his gaze wandered. "I guess, since mother was home she left the door open for you. As always—"

"Stop it."

"She was passed out on the couch…"

 _Please. Stop._

. "And it was that easy to take the pillow from the loveseat…"

 _Don't_.

Adam interlocked his fingers and mimed squeezing something. Then, he stopped his demonstration and frowned.

"What a dumb bitch. Who leaves the front door unlocked?"

Carmen wished for a loaded gun. She wished so hard her head ached

"Isn't that something though? Remembering your mother as this depressed broad who leaves her only daughter alone. I can imagine that fucked with your head. It certainly fucked with mine when she left Haddon—"

"I hate you."

His words stalled and his smug expression slipped a bit.

It would be the first time she'd ever said those words to anyone. She thought she wasn't wise enough to know what hate was, but deep down inside, the part of her mourning her mother transformed into wrath and it sought vengeance. The grip of the revolver could've broken in her viscous grip.

 _No bullets._

"Do you really hate me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes." Carmen bit back.

"If you did, wouldn't you have shot me by now? I mean — you did love mommy very much didn't you? Don't you want to avenge her? Don't you...want to kill me?"

Carmen suddenly felt drained.

Then, a smirk crept on his face that she could've called a grimace with how little flesh he had on his cheeks. "There's nothing in that gun, is there?"

His hand was on her shoulder before she'd realized she was lowering the gun. Not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice. Because what good would it do?

She wanted to cry, mourn until the ache in her chest bequeathed her with unfeeling. To her, it was the night she discovered her mother's corpse all over again.

A tear escaped her eye and he smoothed his forefinger against her cheekbone, wiping away the wet trace of her despondency. "You can cut it with the act now…" He said. Disgusted, Carmen flinched her head away, but a bony hand snatched her jaw.

"I'm going to kill you," she said.

"You won't."

"For what you did."

Adam looked at her amusedly, disdainful as ever.

"You won't," he repeated. "Trust me. You can't."

He laughed, the racket loud and arrogant. It sickened her to the point of near incapacity.

Then, he squeezed her cheeks. "Because you're going to pretend you don't know anything," he said, "It'd be better for you if you did. It'd be worse if you don't, and you're going to wish Michael killed you."

Carmen could hear herself screaming, though nothing came out of her mouth. It was all in her head.

 _No! No! No! Nonononononono._

She would sooner die than forget what Adam had done. She would sooner die than let him get away with this.

She would sooner kill—

It was impulse that explained why her eyes slid over to Michael who had slumped forward against the tree. No regular man would still be standing after what he'd endured. Maybe, as impossible as it sounded, he couldn't die after all. Because monsters don't die, why should Michael?

She saw the mask angled in their direction. The headlights shined over the Halloween prop. She could see the heat of his stare. Then, she turned her head to Adam who raised his fist and all of her thoughts ceased as she screwed her eyes shut, releasing the last tear that this night would see.


	18. The Dream

**Chapter Eighteen: The Dream**

Tangled hair threads between his hands. Her rattling breath vibrates his eardrums.

Keep fighting me, he begs her. He's never begged. Ever. But, he'll do it for her. Excitement sets his veins afire. Silently, he produces the butcher knife from his belt. With her face a hair's breadth from the blade, she whimpers and it travels down his spine as a shiver.

 _Kill her, killer, kill her, killer._

The chant echoes in his brain, voices seduce him with their persistent murmurings. Never quiet.

 _Shut_ up.

 _KILLER, KILL HER—_

His hand came to an abrupt stop as she utters a small cry.

" _You can't_."

The muscles in his jaw tense.

Where has he heard that before?

XXX

 _As he emerged from the shallows of darkness, the size of a fingertip pricked into his wounds, picking through torn nerves. The tinkling of metal being dropped into a can was the sound of the last bullet leaving his body._

 _Light fell upon his eyelids. A thumb gently held open one. His pupil contracted to a pinprick. He could see nothing beyond the beam of white penetrating his retina._

 _Then, the thumb left his face and his eyelid fell closed._

 _Dark descended in his mind again as a conversation occurred from miles away._

" _You said your sister did this? Well?"_

" _It...It was an accident. Please, she didn't know any better. Don't make this any harder on her than it already—"_

" _Stop your groveling. It's disgusting."_

" _I…I'm sorry."_

" _Take Miriam and leave us."_

 _Footsteps skittered away._

" _Oh, Michael…"_

 _Beyond the walls, Michael thought he heard the ragged end of a voice ruined by screaming. It reminded him of all the times he was confined to that bleak hospital wing as a child, listening to terror not orchestrated by his own hands._

"She'll pay for this."

AN: I thank one of the reviewers who recognized one of my plot devices; since I'm on vacation I'll make well to update more often during the duration of my grace period. Also, this is a filler chapter


	19. The Scarf

AN: I thank one of the reviewers who recognized one of my plot devices; since I'm on vacation I'll make well to update more often during the duration of my grace period. Also, this is a filler chapter

 **Chapter Nineteen: The Scarf**

 _She is eight...Or maybe seven._

 _Her mother has been crying for hours now, tucked on the couch, dressed in her bathrobe. The bitter scent of alcohol and smoke permeate the air. Blackens her lungs._

 _Carmen coughs as she exits the house._

 _She can play in the backyard instead._

XXX

 _At fourteen, she stands in the center of a quarry with foam stuffed in her ears, eyeing her mother through these cheap plastic glasses. The woman fetches something from the car's glove compartment._

 _The day is dreary and it drains out the shades of the trees and the grass. The red of her mother's scarf tied around a slender neck is the only thing which catches her eyes. Carmen also catches herself looking at the garment often._

 _Her mother's singing penetrates through Carmen's earplugs as she returns to her with a metal object in her hand. It is silver and it looks heavy. It is more menacing in real life._

" _Why do you have a gun?" Carmen asked wearily._

 _Guns made loud noises. Loud noises made Carmen nervous._

 _Her mother stops singing. She is no longer idle. In fact, she is quite serious now._

" _Because, maybe one day knowing will come in handy."_

 _XXX_

" _Carmie, mommy's so sorry."_

 _In the dead of night, Carmen stirs awake. She finds her mother's head resting on her lap._

" _I just can't let you go." Her voice is muffled. Mumbled. Slurred. Carmen immediately knows it is another one of these nights. Ceaseless rambling from an incoherent woman who has an unfathomable hate for something Carmen cannot relate. "You're the only good thing that he can take away from me."_

 _He. She has never mentioned a "He" before. Carmen assumes it's her father._

" _I'm not going anywhere," she assures sleepily._

" _No, no, no," her mother sobs. Alcohol laces her words. Carmen had long come to terms that this would always be the smell of her mother's perfume. "They'll take you because of me and I won't be able to stop it. Because...you're his…you'll always be his. It runs in the blood. And you'll be going back to that slime of a town, Haddon-fucking-field, with all those lunatics. His fucking disease."_

 _Tears seeped through her covers._

 _Carmen propped herself on her elbows and ran a hand down her mother's head._

 _When mother uses dirty words, Carmen worries that she had helped herself a little too much to the brandy in hidden in her wardrobe. The girl sighs. She has school tomorrow._

" _As long as you're here, I'll never go to Haddonfield. I'll never leave you."_

XXX

" _Three days ago in the quiet town of Haddonfield, Warren County police arrested a man who had allegedly killed twelve people on Halloween night. The killer was identified as Michael Audrey Myers, an escaped patient of Smith's Grove Sanitarium who was clinically diagnosed catatonic. After having restrained him, the police have announced that quote "he will be serving life in Ridgemont Federal Sanitarium, where he is to never see the light of day again." That, of course, will be determined during his trial."_

 _The television blinks to black and Carmen looks over her shoulder to her mother gripping the remote in her hand._

" _Mom?"_

" _It's over…" she says hauntingly._

 _Her brow furrows. "What's over?"_

XXX

Memories melted like cobwebs to the wind. Their colors streaked and gave way to a lifeless sky, void of light. Dew from the bed of grass beneath her body soaked through her clothes. With breath stolen from her lungs, she lay on her back winded, unable to scream at the shape towering over her.

She felt so heavy, it was becoming impossible to breathe. Though, she could not say that this was fear.

Madness. That's what she's starting to discover of him the longer they're near each other. The mask sitting so prominently on his face, untelling, yet hiding such insidious thoughts and actions all the more terrified her because she knew he'd act on them if he wanted.

 _It's the nature of all monsters to make well the ruin of others._

Then, the shape lifted his fist and opened it.

 _Mama no._

Scarlet fluttered like a fallen leaf from his hand.

A sob tore out of Carmen's throat like a cough as her dead mother's scarf landed on her collarbone.


	20. The Doctor

**Chapter Twenty : The Doctor**

Halloween was a strange day of reckoning.

Once a day reserved for children dressed in dime a dozen costumes, begging adults for candy dissolved into subdued silence and sinister premonitions.

Michael Myers's escape last year was Dr. Loomis's greatest fear unleashed.

Until, his murderous rampage admitted him to Ridgemont Federal Sanitarium and the world looked less bleak than it had fifteen years ago when he first admitted Michael as a patient. Though, there were still nights where he'd jolt awake in a cold sweat, charged with tension. Nights where he would remind himself that there was no Boogeyman wreaking havoc in the wake of autumn's passing.

Until, one following morning Dr. Loomis received a call.

" _Loomis, I've been trying to reach you all bloody morning_."

"Why Hoffman…" Leaning back into his chair, he set down the pen used to map out the structure of his next lecture. "It was only last month you called. It surprises me that you'd seek my counsel so soon?"

" _This isn't one of those calls."_ Dr. Hoffman cut in evenly on the other end _. "This is about Ridgemont —"_

The room stilled in witness to a horrified gasp leaving his mouth.

"Good God! Not again!"

" _Sam—_?"

And the phone was slammed into its cradle.

That was three days ago.

Now, he stood before the doors to the county police department building, tapping his cane irritably on a stair and eyeing Sheriff Brackett leaving the entrance with a face drawn as grim as death.

He had aged considerably, the wrinkles around his eyes apparent now in the glare of the setting sun. It was comforting to know last year's events had taken a toll on them both.

Sheriff Brackett invited the man into the station and once they were well into his office, door closed, window shut, he settled into his chair behind his desk and leveled a weathered stare at the old man.

"Why am I not surprised he's gotten away?"

Dr. Loomis had thought the grimace on the man's face held a trace of humor to it.

"Because you and I both know the nature of what he is."

"Would I be wrong in assuming you had something to do with it?"

"You think I'd have any business down here?"

"You resigned your position at Smith's Grove," he pointed out as if meaning to imply something.

"It's true and I'm surprised you've done your research."

"Your name in the news paper comes second to Myers's in regards to coverage. I'm going to guess the publicity is how you've been getting by."

"I don't believe I came here to discuss my livelihood as of late," the doctor said curtly. "If anything, we both have one common interest and that is capturing Michael Myers, so stop looking at me like I had any hand in unleashing the mad dog from its cage."

Sheriff Bracket stared at him, then inclined his head. "Go on."

Recounting the e

"So, a nurse helped him escape, took her car—"

"It wasn't her car."

"Then, she _stole_ a car If we find her, we're bound to find him. That's just something I'll have to ring up the county to look out for - you don't see people driving around in orange mustangs. What else?"

"No 'what else'. I knew this nurse. It seems so unlike her."

"Well, you know true monsters don't make themselves so obvious. Maybe, she fell in love with him."

Dr. Loomis made a rude noise in the back of his throat.

Sheriff Brackett looked partially amused, then was serious again. "I already have the station doing double shifts up until Halloween. There's a security detail at the Strode house. If he's headed there, we're bound to find him in some way or another. So, get out of town, we don't need your help."

He received an arched brow. Dr. Loomis ignored him and irritably continued. "I came here because you of all people know the danger that his escape poses."

"And what? You're hoping to use my authority to track him down? Again? Isn't that a bit manipulative? "

Dr. Loomis didn't give ground. "I don't want Michael Myers to have the satisfaction of killing another human being again. I'm sure you must share the same sentiment. Stopping him won't bring back…what you've lost, but surely you wouldn't wish for other parents to suffer the same tragedy."

The man leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling as though finding an answer to the storm in his mind.

Then, Sheriff Bracket sharply looked at him, though it was all the confirmation Dr. Loomis needed that this conversation could start up again a little less beset with tension when the man proceeded to explain the details of the murders discovered this morning.

"The victims was one highschooler, and one of my men. They sustained obvious knife wounds." Sheriff Bracket paused. His frown was drawn with confusion.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Sheriff Bracket brushed off the condolences. "Deeney was always a bit lackadaisical; that's why I tasked him with the back roads. Damned if I knew this would happen to him." He shook his head. "I shouldn't have put him on board for anything but he's my wife's cousin. Any smuck with the same credentials, I'd have turned him away. But, you know how people are in this town. Everyone's related to each other somehow, and we've all got to stick together because we're 'family.' "

The room fell into a companionable silence for a few moments.

"Where's the knife?" Dr. Loomis asked.

"Found it on another body fifty meters from the crime scene. ID'd him to be James Bonfim, some kid with a history of sexual assault accusations and a kink for Michael Myers. "

"What?"

"Exactly, what I said. There was no sufficient evidence that Michael Myers was there. The story plays out that James Bonfim was driving with a girl he intended to molest, until Officer Deeney stopped his truck. The situation probably got out of hand and James retaliated, killed Deeney and tried to flee with the murder weapon. As far as we can rule out, the murderer is Bonfim."

"So why is he dead?"

Sheriff Brackett looked genuinely pensive. "Tripped and broke his neck."

 _That can't be._

"Except, there's something else?" Dr. Loomis pressed.

"Doctor, I meant it when I said I don't want you getting involved."

Dr. Loomis leaned forward in his seat, persistent. "What is it?"

Sheriff Brackett frowned. His visage took a troubled expression. He sighed. "They found Deeney's gun. _Empty._ With fingerprints that didn't belong to anyone at the crime scene. Usually, this would mean nothing but...I knew Deeney. He never let anyone touch his gun - it was his grandfather's."

Dr. Loomis didn't like the hesitancy in his voice, but he couldn't help it. "But...But, what does that mean?"

"I don't know." Sheriff Bracket shrugged. "We visited Mrs. Bonfim about her son that Friday night but she tells us some conflicting information. Like how her son was fully clothed when he left the house, but when we found him, the kid was ass naked. The only other article of clothing was those paper dresses you find in a hospital."

Dr. Loomis furrowed his brow. "I'm not following."

"Hell-neither would I," said Sheriff Bracket, "Except, his mother mentioned how James had worn a blue mechanic's uniform that night and a white Halloween mask."

Casually, Sheriff Brackett rose out of his seat and leaned an arm against the windowsill. He stared at the direction of a bustling diner across the street, contemplative.

Turning back to a pale Dr. Loomis, he asked,

"I remembered I have to give the Deeney's my condolences. Would you care to join me?"


	21. The Curse

AN: I'm a little late to the party but, I finally watched Halloween 2018. And I'm going to say that, even though I loved its cinematography, I hate how the movie took out the family aspect. Oh well, I'm pushing on. So, in my fic, Laurie Strode is still Michael's sister.

 **Chapter Twenty-One: The Curse**

 _Darkness_.

She awoke to darkness, gasping for air, escaping the clutches of her nightmare with hope that relief would find her in her wakefulness. Yet, there was only increasing terror.

The springs of the mattress protested as she jerked with frenzied urgency, remembering last night with aching clarity.

When the cold shank of a lock drew her attention to the door, her heart became a wallop in her chest. The ribbon of light emerging from the steel doorway outlined the silhouette of a lank man.

"You're awake," he muttered, hand reaching for the wall.

A click. A hesitant flicker. A moment. And the windowless room illuminated in a drab yellow from the incandescent lights.

Forest green eyes roved down her body and she felt her stomach churn. Instinctively, she sat up and brought her knees to her chest to quell the uneasiness.

Adam and her mother shared the same eye color.

The man's chin dipped to his collarbone as he smiled.

"Where am I?" she asked.

Adam leisurely came forward and sat at the foot of the bed. For a moment, she did not breathe. Perhaps, this was all a nightmare.

Her brother rubbed his hand against his forehead, then ran it down his sunken eyes.

"Does that matter?"

Her lips pursed.

At her silence, Adam chuckled, scooting up the bed and Carmen drew her legs in tighter. To her dismay, he noticed this.

"Oh sweet little _Carmie_."

Carmen suppressed a shiver. To pervert something as simple as a name spoke volumes of her brother's ill will and she loathed him all the more.

"Shut up."

"You're so precious to me, don't you know?" he cooed, leaning forward, pale face hovering over her sneakered feet. "I'll love you more than our dead mother ever could."

"What do you know about love?"

"Everything." He guided his hand over the mattress, over the white expanse of the sheets crumpled beneath her. "I know it can comfort. It can please. At even greater costs, it can hurt. "

He grabbed her ankle and wrenched her forward. As a result, the back of her head hit the wall behind her and Carmen reflexively kicked out.

" _Let me go!"_ She didn't recognize the wailing in the background to be produced by a voice of her own. Until, she could feel her vocal chords strain.

When her foot hit him square in the chest, Adam staggered back. The room was fairly quiet besides her chaotically spaced footfalls scampering to the door. She tugged back the handle but the door wouldn't budge.

It suddenly became tempting to beg, to cry, to moan. But what good would it do? What good has it done? To her dread, Carmen turned around and watched callous amusement light her brother's face.

There were many emotions trying to peel away the layers of her resolve. But, Carmen didn't panic _._

 _Yet._

Her brother lifted the tail of his plaid shirt, revealing the stock of the same gun he had threatened her with so many times.

When he gripped the handle, Carmen had to remind herself to breathe even if her lungs were on the verge of bursting.

Then, she thought of her mother. The woman's only failure in life was that she died.

 _And it wasn't her fault._

When her brother's cold touch guided her face, her thoughts fell away. Carmen felt the end of the gun dig into her sternum.

"Haven't you done enough?" she whispered.

"No," he said simply, his voice possessed a petulant edge to it. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Wh-what is there not to understand? You killed my mom, and I bet you liked it," she accused bitterly.

"I did."

His answer made her sick.

"Because she never loved you," she replied quickly. "In the end she chose me over you after the divorce and you feel betrayed. And you're doing this because you want the attention. So, you're taking it out on me."

Adam's features fell flat.

"I know what you're doing. Trust me, it's not doing you any favors. You think you know our mother when she's been lying to you your entire life? Would you call that love?"

Carmen swallowed. "She was protecting me from you. Because you're a lunatic and somehow she knew that would you'd become an accomplice to a murderer."

He appeared satisfied with that answer.

"Oh man. There's so much you don't know, this is painful to watch. Do you really think I'm the bad guy?" His laughter hit the side of her face. "It had to have crossed your mind, right? Why I brought you here?"

"You're going to kill me."

His thumb stroked the curved plane of her cheek.

"I wish," he said, eyes alight. "But, I'm not the bad guy. I'm just here to make your time worthwhile."

When Carmen didn't answer, her brother prompted her by applying pressure under her jugular.

"Who do you think it is, Carmen?" he asked. "Who do you think is the cause of all your misfortune?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! Let me leave please. I haven't done a fucking thing to you."

She almost sobbed when her brother brought his lips against her ear.

"It's Michael, Carmen. You remember him, don't you?"

Funny how a single name which meant little to her a few days ago could suddenly be made the center of her life.

"I don't... get it…"

"Stop it. I hate that look. She gave me that look too after he killed that slut, Judith…" Her brother huffed. "It wasn't my fault, yet she acted like I did it. Whores." He said with a faraway look in his eyes, malice dripped into his voice like acid. "All of you are his whores."

Carmen felt the chill down her spine - she sensed something quite foreboding, and whimpered, "Adam...St-stop...please."

Her brother smiled coyly at the look of confusion on her face.

"He's going to kill you," he said.

Carmen tired, unsuccessfully, to mitigate her trepidation. It was quite clear who "He" was. Suddenly, her mother's words become clear as day to her.

 _You're his._

Her brother leaned forward until their noses touched. "And I think he's saving you for last...He's very tame if you promise to bring his sister to him."

Carmen was tempted to retaliate, but the cold tip of the gun burrowing in her breast reminded her she was powerless.

"I'm not his sister," she said quickly.

 _Punishment. Punishment_.

His green eyes flared alight with cruelty, his teeth bared in a grin of insanity. "Oh, but don't you know, Carmie? Didn't our mother tell you?"

It was quiet, it was faint, it was quick, but Carmen saw it.

 _The current of Madness._

"We're all family," he said.

It was denial that iced her veins which had kept her from melting into a degenerated mess. Though, the inferno of reality was beginning to thaw her out.

"Get away from me," Carmen whimpered. She wished she sounded stronger.

Her brother didn't listen.

Briefly, the tip of the gun left her chest, but rather than feeling immediate relief there was only immediate pain. The highest frequency of the gunshot rang like a siren in her skull, blocking out the sound of the bullet shattering her femur. She couldn't swallow her scream so she screamed through clenched teeth.

 _It comes_.

Carmen finally felt it as her body crippled to the ground.

 _Panic_.

And in her panic, she didn't realize how many tears had left her eyes.

How many tears had scattered onto the floor.

Carmen clawed at the ground. Frantically, she scoured the room for a distraction only to find her brother's shoes. She tried to concentrate on the muddied soles, the smell of dirt.

Breathebreathebreathe.

The air left her mouth in thin, harsh streams against the concrete under her cheek. She clutched her thigh to staunch the flow of blood. Her fingers felt sticky. Then, she cried. Every movement introduced to her a new agony worse than the one before.

"Mommy was right to protect you from Haddonfield. You'll only find twisted folks there. That's why she left in the first place. She did want to protect you. But, the Myers women have never received happy endings."

She didn't need to look up at him to see him revel in her suffering.

Above her cries, she could hear her brother mutter,

"You could say it's a curse."


	22. The Brother

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Brother**

They rolled to a stop in front of the driveway to a drab house.

From the beginning, Dr. Loomis should've known their visit would be anything but pleasant. He found that even after Michael's tirade across Haddonfield, he repeatedly makes the same mistake of thinking light of a situation.

When he entered the house, he found both son and daughter withdrawn on the couch, eyes speaking of nothing, feeling of nothing. It almost reminded him of Michael.

As Sheriff Bracket expressed his deepest regret to the family, Mrs. Deeney, wrought with grief, fainted in the family room, and split her head against the edge of the rosewood coffee table in the process of her fall.

The boy, whose name was Richard, had stirred from his mourning and called the ambulance. As they waited with his unconscious mother, his apathetic front dissolved, and he cried, mentioning how his father had only called him an hour before his death, to notify that he would be coming home late due to an incident that occured with the Doe residence.

"I knew I should've went out to find him…" Richard sobbed. Naturally, Dr. Loomis gave his ear, as the distraught of children was a calling to his profession.

In his regret, the boy proceeded to admit he had stopped by the Doe residence to check on the daughter, Carmen Doe. Though, he didn't feel the need to knock on the door at the sight of her brother's mustang parked in the driveway.

At this, Dr. Loomis straightened in his seat. "What color?"

Richard, through his tears, looked confused. "What?"

"What color, Richard." Dr. Loomis intoned with urgency.

"Uh…" The boy wiped his eyes and under his nose. "Like light orange or something…"

"Do you know her brother? Do you know where we can find him?"

"I don't know...Adam doesn't live in the county."

The sheriff and the psychiatrist exchanged worried glances. Before Dr. Loomis could ask any more questions the ambulance had arrived, taking the boy, his sister and his mother away.

They were driving down the main drag in the direction of the police station when Dr. Loomis shook his head. "'You don't see people driving around in orange mustangs,'" he quoted.

"It could be a coincidence," Bracket said immediately. "But, now that you mention it, the Does are interesting."

"How do you mean?"

He scratched at his chin reminiscently and his cheek ticked, "The brother's kinda….Well I just remembered this time, ten years ago, when I was running night patrols. One of my routes passed through Mt. Sinclairs's cemetery. Someone jumped the fence and I thought I busted a grave robber. So I chased him through the tombstones until he stopped.' Hell, I'll tell you, being out there at night with that fog - I thought the guy was gonna pull a fast one on me. But, when he turned around, it was just the kid I'd remember seeing walking home from school when I went to work. He never seemed like the type to be out at one in the morning in a place like that."

"What _was_ he doing there?"

"That's what I asked and he just pointed at the grave in front of him." His brows drew together a little as Dr. Loomis looked toward him.

"Whose grave?" He prompted.

"Judith Meyers."

As Dr. Loomis looked out the window a child sauntered behind the footsteps of her mother, the red hooded cape tied about her thin neck billowed behind her. Her younger brother tailed none too far behind.

Eventually, he answered lamely, "Her murder is the obsession of all adolescents."

At that verdict, a grimace drew on both their faces.

"Yeah, well...It's just… I don't know - I thought it was more than that. Afterwards, I tried to call his house, but no one answered the phone." Bracket trailed off as he stopped at an intersection.

"What prompted you to-"

Brackett cut in sharply. "Turned out he didn't have a mom. Just him and Mr. Doe. Not many single parent families in Livingston County, so you could understand my concern. Eventually, I'd found out Mrs. Myers used to babysit Adam up until their car accident. He didn't have a mother figure for the rest of his childhood."

"Interesting," Dr. Loomis breathed. "Do you know anything else about them?"

Sheriff Brackett shrugged. "I didn't know Mr. Doe had a daughter until today. For years, it's just been him and his son, until the boy moved out of town."

"And Mrs. Doe?"

"I don't know. Maybe divorce, maybe death. I've never really bothered to look into the family, Sam. They've never done anything wrong. In fact, I see Mr. Doe at church — or I used to…" He gave a short, chopping laugh, but there was no drop of humor in it. "Before I stopped going."

The light turned green and Sheriff pressed on the gas.

"I know what you're thinking, but I don't have a reason to suspect them."

"And why is that?" Dr. Loomis asked testily. "That Bonfim boy… you'd said he had an obsession with Michael Myers. Why wouldn't we suspect Adam as well?"

Brackett grimaced. "That's different," he said, but the psychiatrist knew he was right regardless of the man's skepticism. "Myers is a psycho," was all the man said.

"Killing isn't the only way he claims his victims."

Sheriff Brackett's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as he groaned deep in his throat.

The car took a sharp left turn on a red light.

Dr. Loomis braced himself, arm dangling from the roof handle.

"Where are we going?"

Sheriff Brackett let out a breath. "We're going to Mr. Doe."

"Do you know where he is?"

The man paid him a sidelong glance and smiled, but there was no drop of humor in that either.

"I read over Deeney's report this morning. Yeah, I know damn well where he is."


	23. The Angel

AN: Alrighty, I'd just like to say I love the reviews on this story. The fact that the audience is having fun reading this, really makes this all the more rewarding. Thank you thank you thank you. Truly. I hope all of you have a good one today.

 **Chapter Twenty-Three: The Angel**

 _In the back of the chapel there was a garden and within it, was the old swingset, flaking with rust. It was here, after service, he and the children would play there in their Sunday clothes. Fathers twiddle their thumbs in the parking lot. Mothers gather conspiratorially and chat over the latest scandal._

 _And when she's too absorbed in the frivolities, his mother will hand him this babbling, bouncing, buffoon of a baby._

Watch her head...

 _Her large gray eyes, the eyes of their father, looked like the clouds which made up God's kingdom. Through these big holes in her head he could see her shallow, empty, premature soul. A blank slate. Waiting to be inscribed by a careful hand._

 _No preconceptions._

 _And his sister would have been perfect..._

 _If only…_

 _Her wails weren't sirens in his ears._

 _If only…_

 _She didn't turn from him when he kissed her._

 _If only…_

 _Shutupshutupshutup. Stop crying for once!_

 _But, he loved his sister. Or so he tried to tell himself._

 _On this Sunday, the clouds were stormy, churning in the sky and the children clung to their mothers' sides. They were frightened of the power God would wreak upon them._

 _But, a little rain never discouraged him. He wasn't scared._

 _His sister was dangling in his arms and her tears were falling like the sky. So he rested her on the ground— rested, never dropped—_

 _Because, he was a careful boy—_

Always careful. Always considerate. — the best son— _These were words he imagined his mother would say to him._

 _He strode over to the swingset and stepped onto the seat of the middle swing. His hands clutched either side of the chain. Eyes averted skyward._

 _His squalling sister was lost to the sound of thunder. After every arc, his body disrupted the passage of the wind and he was one notch taller._

 _Then, he glanced down, and settled an agitated gaze on a blonde haired, twilight eyed cherub like the one in the painting which hangs with Mother Mary on the chapel walls dressed in gray clothes and standing there with a porcelain face devoid of emotion._

 _Cradling his sister._

 _This is the last memory Adam had of Michael before the angel gored Judith Myers to death…_

 _AN: If you're a Halloween franchise lover, I highly recommend reading the Halloween comic. It's easy to find online for free in this link._ _/Comic/Halloween_


	24. The Storm

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Storm**

John and Rob were two of the same. The same sense of humor, taste in girls, sports. Same job. They almost looked the same too. Except, Rob was taller and his manners left much to be desired. And also, John would never be caught hanging out with Rob on his downtime.

John didn't realize it, but his mind tried to draw as many parallels between them to make the reality of his new job a little more bearable. To feel as though he fit in with the people at this loon.

Rob crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with a scowl. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flattened pack of cigarettes and stuck one between his lips.

"You're gonna smoke?" John asked him, a little surprised.

"So what?" Rob grunted around the blunt, stuffing the packet, and trading it for the lighter he'd kept hidden in his front pocket. The stream of burning butane was the only thing which lit the hallway since the director insisted on conserving electricity at night.

When Rob snapped his wrist, the little flame cut out, drowning them in a gloom again. As John looked out through the barred window, he sighed. The sickle of the moon was hidden behind roiling clouds, pushed in from a westerly wind.

"I thought it wasn't supposed to rain," John muttered.

Rob held his cigarette between his middle and index finger. Smoke pushed out from his nose.

"Can't trust the weatherman. Motherfucker gets paid to lie."

John just shrugged.

"I remember when that Loon guy worked here," Rob began, "He hated it every time a storm came in. Would always want me to run extra rounds."

"You mean Dr. Loomis?"

"Old fart was a _loon_. Spent so many years working with that Myers sicko, I think it got to his head too." Rob took a long drag and released it in John's direction, then his gaze slid out the window. With a grimace, John waved the curling smoke away.

"A couple years back," Rob said, "I overheard loon tell this nurse a story about one Halloween night here."

Though his interest was an inkling, John still asked, "What happened?"

"Before I got here, one of the doctors threw this costume party for the kiddos— y'know...the…" His finger drew a few circles at his temple. " _Y'know_...And in the middle of it the generator went off for all of two minutes. When they turned it back on, the body of one of the kids was found in the middle of the party room— in one of those tubs you'd have for bobbing apples…" His jaw went slack and Rob's eyes rolled to the back of his head which bent to one shoulder.

The imagery was enough.

"Cut it out, man," John huffed.

"You're just a pussy." Then a dark grin spread over his face. "Which reminds me," he looked at his watch casually, "...Happy Halloween, princess."

Then, Rob acknowledged the door.

John gulped.

"Nurse June has been in there a little long don't you think?" The neophyte asked.

"Who cares? My shift is about to end soon. I just want to go home and pretend I'm not there so those brats don't come prancing on my doorstep."

"I'm serious. Should we check on her?"

Rob narrowed his eyes. "You want to fuck her."

John snaked his head back. "Wh-what? No!"

"No judge. I do too."

"What is wrong with you, dude? She's been in there for the past twenty minutes."

"She's probably dealin' Granny a load."

"I don't get it. Why does Dr. Wynn want us backing a schizophrenic when the most dangerous thing on this patient is her dentures? And, why is she being kept in an infirmary room?"

"Christ — you ask so many damn questions, Nancy. Look. Maybe the old bag broke her hip, earlier today."

John pursed his lips but was otherwise silent.

Embers sprinkled off the end of Rob's cigarette when his mouth hung open at the sound of a muffled bang shattering below them.

The cigarette fell out of his mouth.

"The fuck?"

"That sounded like a—"

"Gun," the orderlies both said.

Without hesitation, Rob spun on his heel in the direction of the nearest stairwell, smothering the cigarette with his shoe. "I'll be back, rookie," he called over his white clad shoulder.

John reached for his flashlight tucked into his back pocket, aiming it at his retreating coworker.

"You want me to stay here?"

" _Duh_." Rob pushed through the door and disappeared.

In the silence of the orderly's absence, John snapped a cautious look behind him, suddenly feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle at a low rumble which he thought came from the other end of the hall. Nothing revealed itself in the circle of light he wielded. But, when his eyes caught the snap of lightning streaking its path across the sky, John was relieved it was only the approaching storm.

Just as quickly his relief died as his ears picked up the sound of gentle tapping upon the door.

The door he and Rob were instructed to be posted at.

Wynn had told him it was only a senile patient. June had told him it was only a senile patient. Her name was Samantha, but she insisted everyone call her Samanth, because that was what her husband called her until he died in a fatal construction accident.

"J-June?" John uttered.

His mind must've been playing tricks on him. That was right. Samanth was an old lady. Hardly strong enough to chew down the steamed carrots they served for lunch. Nurse June was a capable woman, who's been in this craft for longer than he's been in college. She was fine—

John backed away in fear when the light knocking continued again. Incessant. Frantic. Much like his own tittering heart. The flashlight was clutched to his chest, a useless shield.

Then, the knocking stopped.

Maybe, it was June. Maybe the first time he'd heard the strange door noises was her requesting to be let out. John reached into his pocket and fished out the room key, something June had handed him before she entered. _You boys stay out, ya here? This is all girl business. Now, you lock the door behind me, until I ask to be let out._ Her tone had even implied under no circumstances were they to enter as she held a syringe in her hand and disappeared into the belly of the beast.

The key was already nested in its hole before John pushed the door inwards.

As was his nature to be overly cautious, the new orderly stepped back from the yawning darkness of the room. Remembering his flashlight, he raised it a little below level to his eyes and aimed its beam when Nurse June's body was thrown at his face.

He fell backwards, gasping as the floor met his back and coughing as June's weight nearly crushed him. He panicked as the plunger side of the needle pressed into his face while the sharp end was lodged deeply into Nurse June's eye. A trickle of blood ran down the length of her nose and onto his cheek.

It was a moment suspended in shock.

When lightning struck, the hallway illuminated within the blink it took him to recognize the figure emerging from Samanth's room.

But, there never was a Samanth in there to begin with.

As his screams filled the halls, Smith's Grove came alive.


	25. The Dog

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Dog**

There was contempt in his eyes as dipped his hand into a puddle of liquid red, sliding beneath his soles. The blood slickened the pads of his fingers as he rubbed them together. He dragged his wet thumb across his lips as his teeth raked the blood onto his tongue.

While captivating— the sight of it on his skin— his mouth twisted and he spit it out.

"Disgusting..." he eventually said to Carmen who lay eerily still on the ground. "I guess it's better this way. At least, I don't have to worry about you running off."

At least, she wasn't crying anymore.

 _Good_.

He hated crying. Crying women. They were pathetic. It reminded him of himself.

"In order to love, we are born to hurt," he whispered. "And to _be_ hurt." And, in many ways, love as rewarding in its graces, is like fate. And he loves his fate.

Adam didn't turn his eyes when he heard the cold shank of the door. Someone banged on it, shouting curses. The edges of his pant leg sucked up blood from the floor as he crouched low and braced himself.

Though he swiped the key from Nurse Miriam, it didn't make him the only with access to every door in this institutional purgatory.

"What have you done?" A man uttered darkly when the door slammed open.

The orderly accompanying the man had heavy, clumsy footsteps which traveled through the ground.

Now, Dr. Wynn talked in a mild voice.

"You're a fucking dog, Doe. And every mention of your existence is a crime."

Adam's hand was already gripping his revolver.


	26. The Father

AN: Alrighty...I can imagine there's alot of confusion. And I promise these next chapters are going to start spelling things out very quickly— I'm kinda excited! Hopefully, because things are going to become a lot more fast paced, the quality of writing won't be sacrificed, but let me know if you hate it or love it in a review. If I'm putting too much suspense, if the plot's too confusing, etc. Seriously, call me out on my shit if I'm slacking.

ALSO, I feel obliged to address my thanks to the following reviewers (I'm gonna make this a habit now): Chanty Prime, Luniebin, Antalla, Noonerz45, Radioactive-Pingu, barrrbs, MadameAmethyst, Dancing-Ink-Demon , KyloRen'sgirl213 , starksspangledbanner, M, and all guest reviewers! Love yalls support. AND, I gotta give a shoutout to **reviewer e**. LIKE HOLY SHITE, I LOVE YOUR ANALYSIS. You are right; we are hitting the meat. More light will be shed on the conflict in these next chapters. With all these layers, I am mostly worried that I'll make the plot too convoluted for readers to follow. Thank you so much for your in depth reviews!

 **Chapter Twenty-Six: The Father**

From the hall near the front desk, it was the phone — shrill — jangling Dr. Loomis's nerves, demanding in its tinny and grating ring. Discreetly, the psychiatrist nudged the door closed with his cane.

Beside him, Sheriff Bracket fixed the patient in bedrest with a hard stare and cleared his throat officially, in every manner that would appear professional.

"Mr. Doe, I'm —"

"I know." The man interrupted, "...I know who you are, Sheriff. My sincerest condolences for your daughter. How is your ex-wife by the way?"

Dr. Loomis detected a seething uneasiness beneath the sheriff's cultivated silence.

Beyond his beleaguered features, Mr. Doe gave a regretful look. During the drive, Sheriff Brackett had mentioned that his injuries could have been inflicted by a blunt weapon. Like a bat. "I see. Then, you should be relieved." Mr. Doe nodded. "She's met someone new and she seems happier."

With a sharpened gaze and growing displeasure, Sheriff Brackett grimaced. " _Good_. But, that's not what we're here for."

 _In a small town small talk spreads fast_.

Deciding now was as good a time as any to put this conversation out of its misery before it spoiled, Dr. Loomis shuffled forward, hacking out a decorous little cough.

"We regret to visit you on such short notice. I'm Dr. Loomis and the matter we've come to address certainly involves your son. His life could be at risk... and we have very little time."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The attention of chilling gray eyes shifted to him. "I haven't seen him for years."

As Dr. Loomis was readying a suitable reply, Sheriff Bracket snorted irritably. "A witness claimed they saw your son's vehicle in front of your house last night. Where is he now?"

"I... can't recall." Mr. Doe lightly touched his cheek — a wrinkle of confusion on a bruised brow. "I can't remember. What trouble has he gotten into now? Has Adam hurt someone?"

Dr. Loomis cocked a brow.

Not the most typical question a parent who would be concerned for their child's well-being would ask.

"Then, what about your daughter?" Dr. Loomis queried. "Perhaps, we can direct our questions to her instead. She was the one who found you, after all."

It was subtle, the hardening lines of Mr. Doe's frown, but Dr. Loomis was never one to miss subtleties. He'd become a master of it, really— especially when it was those very tells he would always try to find in Michael.

"I haven't seen her—maybe she's still at school...Yet...she's still just a teenager. Probably with friends. Or...she might be on the way..."

Dr. Loomis pressed forward, stepping closer to the foot of the hospital bed as the rubber tip of the cane hit the floor a little harsher than necessary.

"It's _seven_... in the evening, Mr. Doe. She's not here now. Do you think we can find her at hom—"

"What is it that you _want_?" Mr. Doe asked impatiently. "Can't you see I'm not in any condition to be interrogated by you? _Nurse_!"

Upon being called a young woman pushed open the door and peered inside.

"Yes, Mr. Doe?"

"I want these two—"

It seemed patience was in short stock for him as well for Dr. Loomis questioned the broken man with less tact than he expected himself to have:

"What does the name 'Michael Myers' mean to your son?"

There it was: the tell.

His less swollen eye twitched then watered.

Dr. Loomis is so often amazed by how emotion could be mankind's greatest enemy.

They waited for an answer.

The lingering nurse pursed her lips. "Are these gentlemen bothering you, sir?"

Reluctantly, Mr. Doe shooed her away. "No. Nevermind, it was a mistake…"

With that, the door closed and there were three men in the room again, all in some manner of discomfort and discontent. Mr. Doe tried to compose himself before making a reply.

"He... loved him since he was a child..." Even when giving voice to the words, he could not dare look at the men. As though, in shame.

Dr. Loomis and Sheriff Brackett exchanged a confused glance. There was something so wrong with the statement.

"That's a crock of shit. Stop playing with us, Doe—"

" _Leigh_ ," Dr. Loomis said sharply.

The sound of his name snapped him back into an observant silence, and the sheriff lessened the severity of his scowl and stewed.

Then, to the man who was bedridden, Dr. Loomis said, "Michael Myers is not capable of returning... _affection_." He said the word as though it was vinegar on his tongue. "Just...rage."

"What would you know? You didn't know the child before..."

"Whoever Michael was before, is not who he is now." _I would know. I watched him turn into what he has become..._

Mr. Doe gave his head the smallest of shakes. "They could've been brothers. I always found them playing together..."

"But, that changed, Mr. Doe," Dr. Loomis intoned. "On that night, when Michael was taken away."

"When Michael was taken away…" He raised his wounded gaze.. "...it changed _everything_."

"What do you mean?"

Without answering, the man's sights aimed towards the window. It was cracked ajar, allowing the crisp air of a dying season to enter. Dr. Loomis was hard-pressed, but he didn't relent. There was too much at stake to give in. Both the boy he had once cared for, and the murderer he had once killed were in liberation. They lived and breathed in one vessel, whose hands reap from this world people too naive to oppose him. How could one defeat evil without first _knowing_ it? Where had it come from? Who had it tainted?

"Is your son helping Michael now?" Dr. Loomis asked softly.

Suddenly, Mr. Doe turned his face to them both and showed his own dose of panic.

"I remember..."

"What?" Dr. Loomis whispered.

"I tried to stop him." The father's voice cracked from the hashings of grief. "I-I should've but, it's...it's all my fault."

"What is your fault?"

"Where...where is Carmen? Have you heard from her? Is she— is she…? She must stay away—"

"Goddamnit," Sheriff Bracket barked. "Answer the question!"

Mr. Doe's hands gripped the edge of the blanket. "Adam was taking him back…back to—"

Dr. Loomis toiled over the name of the place which fell from the man's lips and a dense hollow feeling spread in his chest.


	27. The Elevator

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Elevator**

On this floor, each room is the source of its own clamor. But, no one pays too much mind. When a patient ends up here, they are likely forgotten. And the staff would like to keep it that way.

But, tonight, the floor was unusually fussy, the patients restless. They are terrified because they cannot leave, but Rob couldn't decipher their delusional ramblings to save his own life.

Rob doesn't know it, but he is as trapped as they are.

His thumbs were hooked onto the belt loops of his pants as he bent slightly forward at the waist.

"What the fuck do you mean I can't pass through?"

No amount of darkness could hide the other orderly's contemptuous frown. "We've got the situation handled."

"I heard a gun." Rob seethed, attempting to shuffle past.

"Robert…"

"Fuck you."

Rob heard a sigh.

"The night crew is understaffed as is." Crossed arms unraveled from the orderly's broad chest. " _Please_ , go back to your floor."

Rob didn't comply. He stepped forward, as close as a clenched fist away from the orderly's face.

"Shit smells funny here. Wynn have you up to no good again?" He saw the orderly's pursed lips — the only indication that his jabs were landing. "Yeah, that's right, blockhead. I've been here long enough to know that this mad house has changed ever since Dr. Loony left." Rob pointed at the camera mounted in the corner. "Got all of these suckers in every room. What? Can't have Grampa screw loose shit in peace? Isn't it enough that Wynn has a massive hard on for that mute kook? Fucking right, Jerry, I've cleaned _his_ office and I've seen the medical assessments from Ridgemont lying out on his desk."

Above the howl of caged lunatics, the elevator bell peeled and both men looked at the opening lift in horror.

As its doors closed, the storm raging outside was the shepherd to a monstrous wind and when sheets of hail fell, so too did the orderlies, in a heap with their heads twisted backwards.


End file.
